After the Trial
by Platinum Express
Summary: The night after the biggest trial of her life, Hermione Granger went home for a quiet dinner. Three hours later, she was lying on a table at St Mungo's with a broken leg, slashed torso, bruises and burn marks. A team of Aurors have now taken over the case; but the patient isn't speaking. Rated M for a reason.
1. Bruises and Aurors

**CHAPTER ONE**

Patricia Monroe was looking forward to going home.

It was half past eleven and she had just completed a two-day shift at St Mungo's, where she worked in the Emergency Room. She had spent the last forty-eight hours attending to a broken arm, a sprained ankle, two cases of suspected chicken-pox and a child who had managed to ram a spoon up one of his nostrils. She was tired; her back ached, her fingers smelled of hospital spirit and she wanted nothing more than to run herself a long bath. After the last hour of her shift was finished, she looked hopefully at her chief resident, who was reading a magazine at the front desk.

'I'm done, Elspeth,' she said, 'Can I leave now?'

Elspeth tucked a strand of coppery hair behind one ear and then glanced at the clock that hung by the desk. 'Five more minutes, Pat. If nothing comes up, you're free to go.'

Patricia heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed on a chair beside Elspeth. She helped herself to a cup of cold tea from a tray which was kept specially for the residents. 'It's been a long shift,' she said, wearily.

'Is your boyfriend at home?'

'I hope so. He's been showing signs of bolting lately, you know. Men. They're all the-'

She never completed that sentence. Suddenly, a series of alarms blasted across all corridors of the Emergency Wing. Elspeth cursed and leapt to her feet, before gesturing towards Patricia.

'Get to the bay, now! I'll get a stretcher brought in.'

Silently kissing her long bath goodbye, Patricia hurried to the bay. Two of the attendants were opening the door of a black car, and she saw one of them let out an exclamation at what he saw inside. He leant over the drivers seat and when he straightened, there was a woman in his arms.

Patricia's eyes widened. 'What happened to _her_?'

The attendant, whose name was Freddie, looked grim. 'She's a mess. It's a wonder she managed to drive.'

Patricia glanced at the heap of what looked like blood and flesh in Paul's arms. 'She drove like _that_?'

'Apparently. There isn't anyone else in the car. Where the fuck is that stretcher?'

'Elspeth is sending someone with it. I'll make sure an OR is ready,' Patricia muttered. She turned on her heel and fled back into the Wing, passing two men with a stretcher on the way. Pausing only to give them directions, she rushed to Elspeth's office. 'OR!' she gasped, adding, 'And I think we'll need you there.'

Elspeth looked up sharply. 'What is it.'

'I have no idea, Elle. I have no bloody idea.'

* * *

Five minutes later, the woman was spread out on an operating theatre. Against the chrome and metal fixtures of the room, her bloodied, naked body looked oddly surreal. The attendant who had brought her in was by the door, rummaging in her handbag.

'Her name's Hermione Granger,' he said, holding up a driver's license.

Elspeth looked up sharply. She had been examining the woman's head along with a team of Healers. 'Granger? She's on the Wizengamot.'

The attendant shrugged. 'I wouldn't know. I don't read the newspapers. Whoever she is, she's been beaten up pretty badly.'

Elspeth pursed her lips. 'Might be a concussion,' she muttered, and taking her wand out of her robe pocket, she waved it lightly over the patient's head.

Patricia, in the meantime, was standing by the woman's misshapen abdomen. She withdrew her own wand and murmured something as she rested a gentle palm on the patient's stomach. Immediately, her expression changed.

'She's pregnant,' she said, quietly.

The Healers in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to face her. 'Pregnant?' Elspeth asked, uncertainly.

Patricia lifted her palm, which was glowing a pale shade of blue. 'I did a standard spell-check. She conceived barely an hour ago.'

One of the other Healers made a disbelieving noise. 'She's been beaten black and blue. For the love of god, her intestines are practically spilling out. An hour ago, whoever did this to her was probably still _doing it_.'

One by one, the people in the room dropped their gaze to the patient on the table. Her leg was broken and stuck out at an odd angle. Angry bruises covered her shoulders and her calves were marked with welts and cigarette burns. Her stomach had been attacked so viciously that it was actually torn open, her bloody innards already showing signs of getting infected.

Elspeth took a deep breath. 'Call Paul,' she said, sharply, 'And tell him to notify the Aurors. She's been raped.'

* * *

The Auror Department wasted no time. The moment they were informed that Hermione Granger, member of the Wizengamot, was lying bloodied and raped on a hospital operating table, they swung into action. Five minutes before midnight, a team was sent to the hospital and directly up to the office of the Chief of Surgery.

Paul DeSilva was an Anglo-Indian with many years of medical experience and a shining reputation. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a fine crop of silvery hair that was swept back from his temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. When he met the Aurors, his mouth was drawn into a terse, grave line.

'We've confirmed her identity,' he said, quietly. 'It's Hermione Granger, all right.'

The head of the team, a reputed Auror named Startford, glanced at a man on his right. 'Inform Harry immediately, Phillip,' he said, 'He'll want to know.'

Phillip nodded and departed.

'When did she get here?' Stratford asked, gravely.

'About half an hour back. She actually drove her car here on her own. It's a wonder she made it. The woman's been cut up pretty badly. The Healers are trying to get her intestines back into her body at this very minute. It's touch and go, I'm afraid to say.'

Stratford looked even more sober. 'And she was definitely raped?'

Paul nodded. 'Barely an hour and a half back, is our best estimate. She's - well, she's pregnant.'

The team of Aurors exchanged uneasy glances. Paul realized that something was different with this patient- it was a personal matter. Then, he remembered where he had heard the name Hermione Granger before. She was one of the best friends of Harry Potter - Chief of the Auror Department.

Along with that, something else he had recently read about the woman in a tabloid came to his mind. He glanced up questioningly. 'She's engaged, isn't she?'

Stratford nodded grimly. 'One of the Weasleys. His name's Ronald. He's a Quidditch player.'

Paul nodded. He was familiar with the Weasleys. Sighing, he took his glasses off and pressed his fingers to his temple.

'Look,' he said, 'I'll be honest with you. I've seen her condition. And I don't know if we can save her. It looks - well, it looks as though someone cut her up with something incredibly sharp, along with beating her black and blue with a sort of blunt instrument. The Healers are doing the best they can, but we can't be sure. In the meantime, her fiance needs to be told.'

'Phillip will take care of it. I'm assuming she's in no condition to give us a statement right now?'

Paul looked scornful. 'She hasn't even opened her eyes yet.'

'We'll have to leave that for later, then. In the meantime, we need to send a team over to her home. We'll try and figure out how she got bloodied up in the first place.'

* * *

**It's been a while since I actually stuck to a story, but this plot has been eating at my brain for a while. Reviews will be much appreciated =)**


	2. Letters and Glass

**CHAPTER TWO**

'You look tired,' Harry said, 'Go to bed.'

Ginny, who had been clearing up the remains of their dinner, turned a weary face to him. 'Are you sure?'

Harry smiled. 'You're exhausted, Gin. It's been a long day and that courtroom is not the most relaxing of environments. Get into bed. I'll clean up here.'

Ginny cast him a grateful look, kissed his cheek and headed to the bedroom of their small apartment. Harry got up and began to clear away plates and glasses. He transferred the remains of their Thai take-in to plastic containers and started to stack them in the fridge. He was in the process of wiping down the kitchen counters - something Ginny was very particular about - when he heard the tap on the window.

A rust-coloured owl was hovering impatiently outside, with a small scroll attached to its leg. He recognized it almost immediately. The bird belonged to Phillip, one of the Aurors in his department. His brow wrinkling in concern, Harry opened the window and took the letter. The moment he read it, his expression changed.

He shrugged on his coat and left a note for Ginny on the kitchen table, before leaving the apartment. He apparated from a quiet alley behind the building and reappeared outside a block of flats with a brick facade. The doorman, who was reading the evening newspaper, smiled cheerfully at him. 'Hello Harry. Haven't seen you in a while.'

'I know, Stu,' Harry muttered, absently. 'Is Ron in?'

'Of course. Came in straight from the courtroom. Hey, how about-'

Before he had time to finish that sentence, Harry had strode across the lobby and impatiently pressed at the lift button. He got off on the fourth floor and rapped on one of the doors. It opened a crack and a tired, half-asleep face peered out.

'Harry,' Ron said, wearily. 'It's past midnight. What-'

'It's Hermione,' Harry cut in, without preamble. 'She's at St Mungo's.'

Ron's eyes widened. There were prominent dark circles around them. 'She's at- why the fuck?'

'I just got a letter from Phillip. She's been beaten up quite badly and- and they think she's been raped.'

Ron's face turned white. He froze for a second and then yanked back the door and strode out, in his striped pajamas. 'Come on,' he muttered, 'We'll apparate from downstairs.'

'You need a coat-'

'Come on, Harry.'

'Ron, it's cold out-'

'I SAID COME ON.'

* * *

At the hospital, the team of Healers was still working on Hermione. One of them had fixed her leg and another was dabbing a pungent, yellowish cream on her welts. Elspeth was crouched over her abdomen. She shook her head with a sigh. 'I've never seen an assault this brutal,' she said, quietly, 'It's- it's vicious. Malicious.'

Patricia pursed her lips. She had cast a spell to counter any concussion and was now applying ice-packs to Hermione's temples. 'Do you know what did it?'

Elspeth held up the thin instrument she had been probing into the wounds, so that it caught the pale light of the OR. Something glittered on the end. 'See that?' she asked.

Patricia leaned forward and squinted. 'What is it?'

'A fragment of glass. I'd say that whoever did this to her used a shard of some kind. It would explain why the cuts are so deep.'

Patricia glanced again at the bloody mess on the table and shivered. 'Horrible,' she murmured.

'Beyond that. Going by the dimensions of the cuts, I'd say the instrument was around six inches long. He's literally slashed her to pieces.'

The Healer who was dabbing at the bruises on her legs remarked, 'He's attacked her vagina as well.'

Elspeth closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her gaze was steely. 'First priority, her intestines. They could get infected. Lance, do what you can down there. If we can get additional Healers in here, nothing like it.'

She glanced down at Hermione's face. It was white as a sheet and she had a prominent black eye. 'I hope they catch the bastard who did this,' she muttered. She pulled out another fragment and then turned, as someone knocked on the door.

'That must be Paul. Pat, could you- ?'

She handed the instrument to Pat and stepped out of the room, stripping off her gloves as she did so. Paul was standing there, flanked by a tough-looking guy who she presumed was Stratford.

'How's it going?' Paul asked grimly.

Elspeth looked doubtful. 'I couldn't say. She hasn't woken up. We're taking care of her abdomen right now.'

Paul nodded. 'Elspeth, Stratford here would like to talk to you. It won't take more than a couple of minutes. He needs a few details.'

Elspeth nodded. Stratford took a wand from his robe pocket, charmed a notepad and quill to take down everything she said, and then asked, 'Has she definitely been raped?'

'Yes, she has. She's pregnant. One of the Healers did a standard spell-test on her and it came back positive.'

Stratford looked slightly optimistic. 'That means we can trace the father, right? It'll lead us right to whoever did this to her.'

Elspeth and Paul looked slightly skeptical. Stratford glanced questioningly at them, and Paul said, 'It's not that simple.'

'Why not?'

'Firstly, we need DNA samples from different men to compare it. We can't produce names out of thin air. Secondly, there's a lot of red tape surrounding paternity tests.'

Startford looked incredulous. 'Red fucking tape? The girl's been assaulted, for crying out loud.'

'We know, Mr Stratford,' Elspeth said, calmly. 'But we still need to go through the right legal procedures before we can carry out the test. The hospital could get into no end of trouble otherwise. Besides, we won't be able to do it right now. We'd have to wait for the baby to be born. If she does decide to keep the baby. If- well, if she lives.'

Stratford looked grim. 'But there's no doubt that it's the rapist's child?'

'I should say none,' Elspeth said. 'According to the pregnancy spell-test, I'd say she conceived between 10.30 and 11 this night. And given how fresh her wounds are, it's quite possible that she-'

'Wait,' Stratford cut in. He was looking over Elspeth's left shoulder. She turned and caught sight of a messy-haired man and another with a flaming red crop running down the corridor towards them. Stratford stepped in front of her, his expression instantly tragic. 'Harry,' he began, 'I'm very-'

'Where is she?'

Silently, Stratford pointed to the door. The redhead made to move forward but Elspeth threw up her hand. 'You can't,' she said, sharply, 'Nobody can go in right now. We're still working on her.'

The messy-haired one - whom Elspeth now placed as Harry Potter - looked ready to argue. The redhead seemed to be struggling for words. Finally, he burst out, 'I'm her fucking fiance!'

'We're doing the best we can for her, sir. But it's touch and go for us at the moment, I'm afraid. We'll be keeping you posted, of course,' Elspeth said, firmly. Before any of the men could react, she entered the room and shut the door with finality behind her. Patricia was still hovering over the patient's abdomen.

'Got a few more shards out,' she said, grimly. 'But Elle, we're going to have to sew her up. She could get infected otherwise.'

Elspeth nodded. 'Then that's what we do.'

* * *

An impatient knock on his door woke Sirius from a deep sleep. He blinked vaguely and then glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. It was half-past one.

Cursing, he stumbled out of bed, wincing as his bare feet struck the cold stone floor. His front door was bolted and locked, so it took him a good thirty seconds to get it open in his sleep-befuddled state. When he did finally achieve this, he found himself facing a worried looking redhead.

'Ginny,' he said, surprised. 'What are you doing here so late?'

Ginny said anxiously, 'Sirius, can you drive me to St Mungo's?'

'St Mungo's?' Sirius rubbed his eyes, trying to process what she was saying. He had had a pretty stiff drink just before going to bed and it really wasn't helping things along. A little uneasily, he also realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

'Yes. St Mungo's. I need to go there, right now?'

'But-'

'And I can't apparate, obviously,' Ginny said, gesturing towards her stomach. Sirius nodded. She was six months along, and apparating was out of the question.

'But why do you want to go to the hospital?' he asked, trying to sort out his thoughts.

'Harry's there. He left after I'd gone to sleep. I just found a note from him on the kitchen table.'

'Why the hell-?'

'It's Hermione, Sirius. Something's happened to her.'

Sirius froze. He wasn't sure whether he'd heard right. 'H-Hermione?'

'Yes, something happened to her. She's been admitted. I have to go to Mungo's and see what's going on.'

'What happened to her?' Sirius demanded, a touch frantically. 'I just saw her after the case- she seemed perfectly fine!'

'We all did,' Ginny said, soberly. She shivered slightly, and Sirius suddenly realized she must be cold. The December air was icy and she was wearing nothing except a flowered nightgown with a bathrobe thrown over it, under which her stomach swelled gently. He surmised that she had left home in a hurry.

'Look, please just get your car keys and come,' Ginny said, wearily, 'I'm frightened sick, Sirius and I-'

Sirius held up a hand. He went back into the apartment and when he came back, he was dressed, holding his car keys as well as a thick bomber jacket.

'Put this on,' he said, tossing it to Ginny. 'You look like you're freezing.'

* * *

**Chapter two down. I swear, with this story, the ideas are just pouring in. I know this isn't your typical Sunday afternoon pleasure read, but it'll be worth it, I promise.**

**Also, I've realized while writing this that there's going to be a lot of back and forth going on for the next few chapters. I'm trying to tie up two or three story-lines, which aren't really related to each other at present. Hopefully, it won't get too confusing. If it does, please drop a review telling me, so I can work at tightening it up.**

**Cheers.**


	3. Coffee and Scalpels

**Author's Note: I figured I should clear something out (which I really should have done earlier) before going on with this. I didn't really give a back story about how Sirius miraculously came back from the dead because as far as I'm concerned, he never died. Denial might not be healthy, but I like it (don't we all?). Plus, I somehow felt a came-back-through-the-veil recount would take away from this story. So bear with me there.**

**CHAPTER THREE**

As soon as Elspeth returned to the OR, Harry wheeled around to face Stratford. 'What happened, exactly?' he demanded.

Ron made a noise which was something between a sigh and a groan and slumped against the wall. Stratford stepped forward and grabbed his arm. 'Come with me,' he said, roughly, 'We need to talk somewhere a bit more private.'**  
**

He hauled them up two floors to an empty office, where he deposited Ron in a swivel chair. Finding a thermos on the desk, he pushed it towards him. 'Probably has coffee. Drink some, you'll feel better.'

Ron ignored his command. Instead, he asked, 'Are they sure she'll be alright?'

Stratford looked grim. 'They aren't sure yet, Ron. It looks grim. She - she's been beat up quite badly, from what they described.'

Ron's face was ashen. Harry cut in.

'But what - how - what exactly happened?'

'That's what we're trying to find out. Paul DeSilva called us to inform us that they have a rape victim here. Apparently, she drove herself to the hospital in this condition.'

Ron said, hollowly, 'We saw her just a few hours back. We were coming back from the courtroom. I told her I'd go home with her, but she said she'd rather be alone.'

Stratford glanced up. 'The courtroom?'

'At the ministry,' Harry nodded. 'Hermione had a real big case today.' He was silent for a moment and then added, 'The Cavendish case.'

Stratford opened his mouth and then closed it. He knew all about the Cavendish case - the Daily Prophet had reported about nothing else for two weeks. Frederick Cavendish was a well-educated, rich doctor, who moved in high circles and was seemingly above all reproach. Six months back, a member of the Wizengamot had sent in a special petition to have him tried in court - on charges of running a dope racket. The sensation that had followed had been unbelievable. Eventually, Cavendish - as well as five of his associates - had wound up in front of a full-fledged Wizengamot. That evening's paper had reported that they had been found guilty and sentenced to ten years in Azkaban.

'She was on the Cavendish case,' he said, thoughtfully.

Harry nodded. 'It's more than that,' he said, glumly. 'Hermione's been pushing this case since its inception. She was the one who set the ball rolling in the first place.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, she had been suspicious of Cavendish for a while. She filed the case against him, and it was because of her that a lot of the evidence against the entire gang came up in the first place.'

'So she wasn't just responsible for the judgement? She was behind Cavendish's case the entire time?'

Ron nodded. 'They sentenced him this evening. It was the final trial. All of us went with Hermione to the courtroom. It was - it was a very important case for her.'

'Who was the Chief Wizengamot?' Stratford asked, brusquely.

'Calliope Mitchell. She had the ultimate word, but-' Harry broke off. He was nervously linking and unlinking his fingers. At the same time, a slow anger was beginning to burn in his eyes.

'But Cavendish would have held the entire Wizengamot responsible,' Stratford finished for him. 'Especially the woman who kicked off proceedings against him in the first place.'

Ron, who had been sitting with his head sunk in his hands, looked up. 'Are you saying - Cavendish-'

'It's possible,' Stratford interrupted, abruptly. 'But we don't know anything for sure. Either way, that's one definite angle to trace. Harry, I'm going to need a detailed account of Hermione's movements today- and tonight.'

'We'll tell you everything we know,' Harry said, quietly.

* * *

Sirius clasped his hands around a paper cup of coffee and stared dully at the unnaturally white wall in front of him. The coffee, which an attendant had handed him from a machine, was milky and altogether quite revolting. But it was piping hot and felt comforting against his palms, and in his throat. The hospital corridors were chilly and since he had given his jacket to Ginny, he was feeling cold and uneasy.

But that was nothing compared to the turmoil in his head.

The moment they'd pulled in to the hospital, Ginny had rushed off to find Harry. She had looked somewhat absurd, in her bathrobe and bomber jacket, with the flowered hem of her nightgown whipping about her ankles. Sirius had headed to the Emergency Room instead, where he rightly surmised that Hermione was being kept. But once he got there, a plump attendant with corn-coloured curls had immediately stopped him.

'Yes, she's here. But you can't see her just now. They're operating at the moment.'

'I just want to make sure-'

'Pardon me, sir, but are you a family member?' demanded the attendant, squinting suspiciously up at him. Sirius exhaled in exasperation.

'No, but-'

'Then you're just going to have to wait here. I understand that you're worried, but the patient is our first priority right now. Have a seat right there. I'll give you a cup of coffee.'

As the machine had spat out a stream of coffee into the cup she held under it, Sirius suddenly asked, 'Is Harry Potter here?'

The attendant nodded. 'Yes, he's come with his team. Perhaps they'd be able to tell you something once they get down.'

Sirius felt the blood drain from his face. 'He's come with his team?'

The attendant looked grim as she handed him the cup. 'A whole bunch of them,' she said, gravely. 'Haven't seen this sort of case for a very long time. You wait right here. Someone will be down in a minute.'

And she had left.

Sirius could feel panic coiling in his stomach. He wasn't in the least sleepy now; instead, the clogs of his brain were whirling frantically, trying to understand what had gone wrong. Hermione was in the hospital, she seemed to be in a serious condition. When Ginny had told him, his first, incoherent thought had been that she'd tried to harm herself. It had leapt to his mind like a serpent and clung persistently. But entire teams of Aurors didn't come to investigate attempted suicides, did they?

He took another sip of coffee and suddenly wondered where Ron was. He'd be in the hospital, of course. He'd probably be with Harry, worried sick about his fiancee.

He had to see Hermione before Ron did.

Groaning to himself, Sirius drained his coffee and tossed the cup away. He leaned back against the cold, metallic chair he was sitting on.

'Hermione,' he muttered, 'What happened to you?'

* * *

Hermione Granger was in pain.

She wasn't entirely sure where she was, or how she had got there. She had a few incoherent memories of a horn blaring, a headlights rushing past her and then, of anxious exclamations and a whirlwind of activity. Now, she was lying on something flat. And she was in pain.

Her shin felt as though it had splintered into a million pieces. Her skin burned, indiscriminately. Where her back met the surface she was lying on, she could feel the pain gathering in pools - at the nape of her neck, shoulder blades and lower down. Between her legs, it felt as though she were on fire. She could barely breathe.

But her stomach was numb. She felt nothing there.

She wondered whether she'd be able to open her eyes, but the effort was too much. It was as though someone had painted her lids shut; no amount of effort could induce them to spring open again. She tried to move a finger but although her brain frantically sent the message, her finger refused to oblige.

In some dull, semi-conscious corner of her brain, Hermione felt frightened. Then, she felt a small prick on her arm.

She was marveling at the fact that she could actually feel something through all the layers and layers of pain, when a change came over her mental state. The fear began to ebb slightly and she felt a sense of calmness - not complete calmness, but a can't-be-bothered sense of calmness - wash over her.

She continued to lie in that apathetic state, until she heard a voice say, from very far away, 'Pass me the scalpel'.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well?**


	4. Paranoia and Third Parties

**Author's Notes: Again, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. It's very encouraging.**

**Not too much of Hermione is this chapter, still trying to introduce a few more elements to the plot. But don't worry, she won't be operated on conscious. The Healers at St Mungo's aren't quacks.**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

A few streets away from the Ministry of Magic, there was an apartment complex which was one of the few parts of London meant exclusively for its magical population. The complex comprised of four separate blocks, each of a uniform creamy gray. It was dotted with steel-framed windows, some in a fairly dilapidated condition. Around the complex was a mere mention of a lawn and a strip of cross-shaped tarmac which the management referred to as a driveway. A wooden board that spelled 'Windsor Heights' dangled from two iron chains at the entrance.

The Muggles who passed by Windsor Heights never seemed to notice it. Something about the complex rendered it completely inconspicuous; it seemed to melt against the background and although it was very high, camouflage itself against the sky. Those who did notice it never seemed to want to live here; and they couldn't be blamed. Despite its ostentatious name, Windsor Heights did not cater to loyalty. Rather, it catered to witches and wizards who simply did not have the money to live anywhere else in the City. And no one knew this better than Gwendolyn Cottonsmith, who rented a flat on the fourth floor of the Eastern Block.

The night of the Cavendish trial, she had been unable to sleep. She had tossed and turned in bed for a while, until she gave up and sat up in bed. Her apartment consisted of a single bedroom, a kitchen and a sort of in-between space that her landlord optimistically referred to as a parlor. Deciding that a beer might take the edge off her mood, she cracked open a can and settled down on her cushion-less two-seater sofa.

She couldn't deny that she was worried. She had assumed that tonight would be one for celebration but somehow, the end of the trial had left her with nothing but anxiety. She couldn't forget the expression of Cavendish's face when he had been sentenced. She had been sitting in a corner of the courtroom, trying to look inconspicuous. But when Cavendish's sentence was read, he had shot her a look - a single look - and she understood immediately. He _knew_.

Robbie had offered to come home with her but she'd politely refused. She'd rather be alone, she had told him. When she got back home, the first thing she did was collect her mail and then lock her front door - with a bolt as well as a quick spell. She gone systematically through the tiny flat, checking that all the windows were snapped shut and placing additional charms on them. Then, she'd put an alarm spell on her front door as well as her bedroom door, to alert her in case someone tried to break in.

Not that they would, of course.

She chided herself for being paranoid, but couldn't shake off the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sipping tersely at her beer, she cast a look at the front door again. Still locked.

That evening's paper had carried the news of the trial. Everyone would know by now. And although she knew that Cavendish and his associates were in Ministry custody, the thought didn't reassure her as much as it should have.

There might still be someone on the outside. That someone could easily find out where she lived.

'Damn you, Granger,' she whispered. The sound of her hushed voice cracked like a whip in the silent flat and she started. Finally, she made up her mind.

Tonight would be her last night in this apartment. Tomorrow, she was leaving. It was best to get out of the city for a while.

The moment she decided this, Gwendolyn felt a little better. She had always been this way; indecision made her fret but the moment she had come up with a concrete plan, she felt oddly calm. She pulled out a notepad and a quill from a table by her sofa and began to make her plans. Where should she go? Oxford might do it, although she'd prefer to get further away. Then, suddenly, it struck her. She would go to Foxhole. She had an aunt who lived there and although they weren't particularly close, she knew she'd always have a place to stay. She would leave the next morning, by the earliest train. She'd pack enough to last her a month - clothes, shoes, some of her notes from work and other essentials and leave her rent in an envelope on the kitchen table. She wouldn't tell her landlord in person; she'd slide a note under her front door instead.

She began to compose a letter to her aunt. She would send it right away.

* * *

'Hermione first started to suspect Cavendish about a year back,' Harry said.

Very reluctantly, he had agreed to leave St Mungo's and head back to the Ministry of Magic with Stratford. The latter had been uneasy about speaking at the hospital; he wanted a safe place where they wouldn't be overheard. Harry, who had been working with Stratford for years now, knew that he was right. Although on paper Harry was the senior, everyone on the department knew that it was Stratford who handled a lot of the decisions. When Harry had joined the Auror Department, his reputation had sent him catapulting past the junior positions to the top rung of the ladder. Stratford had occupied that position before - had done so for more than a decade. The Ministry had cleverly sought to avoid any ego clashes by building a separate team for Stratford - a Special Operations team, which Harry had no control over. Not that it was needed, though; Harry trusted Stratford completely and relied on his better judgement to solve several cases.

Ron had elected to stay behind at St Mungo's, in case the Healers brought any further updates. Three Aurors remained with him. Harry and Stratford had apparated back to the Ministry and were now safely ensconced in Harry's office. It was half-past three in the morning, but both men were wide awake and alert.

'He had a shining reputation, didn't he?' Stratford asked, watching Harry carefully. His quill was quickly taking notes on the side.

Harry nodded. 'He worked for the Ministry as a psychiatrist. You know, whenever any employee had any problem, they'd be referred to him. Many people assumed he'd go private, since that pays more, but he stuck with it. It was a smart move, in a way.'

Stratford frowned. 'Not very high-paying, is it?'

Harry considered this. 'I wouldn't say it's _not _high-paying. The Ministry actually paid him quite well. Of course, he probably could have earned a lot more if he'd consulted privately. But he milked his position for all it was worth - had friends in all the right places, a Ministry bungalow in his name and a million contacts. But he was never linked to anything shady. His clients loved him, his employers loved him and he fit right in with the high-profile government crowd. You know, Ministry balls and that sort of thing.' He paused for a minute and then added, 'When I first joined the Ministry, I met him at one of the parties. It was - oh, it must have been around five years back. I was nineteen at the time. I thought he was amazing.'

Stratford nodded. He had met such people.

'But Hermione suspected something was wrong,' he prompted.

Harry fell silent. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. 'I don't know when she started, exactly,' he said, thoughtfully. 'It was - well, the whole thing began last November, I think. One of the other members of the Wizengamot - she's left the Ministry now - had begun to visit Cavendish.'

'Who?'

Harry hesitated. 'I'm not supposed to know this - and neither are you - but it was Leonie Cottilard. She had just got divorced and was going through a bad phase. So one of the superiors in the Council recommended she visit Cavendish. Hermione was fairly close to her.'

'And did it help?'

'Well, Hermione thought so at first. Leonie was suddenly happier. But she began to feel, slowly, that something was wrong.'

'Wrong how?'

'Well, she said that Leonie was terribly spaced out. Didn't remember or register a few important things. Addressed the wrong councilmen. That sort of thing. Anyway, Hermione asked her about it, but didn't get anything out of her. Later, she saw her popping a few pills from a case, which she recognized as having the Ministry stamp.'

'And Cavendish had prescribed them?'

'Yup. Being Hermione, she wouldn't let it go, although we all told her to. Ron was especially worried she'd get into trouble. They had just got engaged. Anyway, she nicked the case from Leonie's handbag and had it analyzed. Turned out to be a fairly powerful anti-depressant; very addictive. She confronted Leonie again and this time, she admitted that she had started to take a cocktail of powerful drugs to keep her depression at bay - all on Cavendish's advice.'

'But what was in it for him?' Stratford asked, curiously. These were some of the finer details of the case, which hadn't been reported by the papers.

'His clients got addicted, of course,' Harry said, sadly, 'And then they had to rely on him for more. He was able to get hold of the drugs and sold them to Ministry employees at thrice the price. He was making a killing out of it; the entire process had been institutionalized.'

'And Hermione stumbled on to the whole thing,' Stratford said, slowly. 'This sort of thing could get really dangerous. Especially if it isn't contained within the Ministry, or if there's a third-party involved.'

Harry nodded. 'The minute she realized what was going on, she kicked into action. Hermione's like that - she can't bear to see people getting away with stuff like this. She sent in a petition for Cavendish to be pulled to court. No one took her seriously at first, of course. Apart from the fact that Cavendish was considered to be a blue-eyed boy in medical circles, it would also reflect really poorly on the Ministry itself. But she launched an investigation - off the record, of course - collected enough proof and fought the case for a good eight months. As you know, the final hearing was yesterday. She won it.'

Stratford chewed over these thoughts for a minute. He was slowly painting a picture of the girl who was currently lying in the hospital bed. Someone who kicked over a hornet's nest, who fought a case although few believed her. Someone, in other words, who was definitely a target for attack. And someone who-

Something struck him.

'Wait a minute,' he said, 'You said she launched an investigation. What kind of investigation? Doesn't the Auror Department normally handle that sort of thing.'

Harry looked uncomfortable. 'Not that sort of investigation,' he explained, a little hesitantly. 'She wanted to keep it away from the Ministry. Off the record.'

Stratford narrowed his eyes. 'Are you saying she looked into this thing herself? That could be dangerous.'

'Partly, yes. But Hermione couldn't take it on single-handedly. So, she hired a little help.'

'What sort of help?' demanded Stratford.

Harry sighed. 'I don't know her name,' he admitted. 'But she's a crime journalist. She works for the Daily Prophet.'

Stratford groaned and slumped forward on his desk. There was a third-party involved.


	5. Articles and Assets

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_December 29, London_

_Cavendish and Associates in Ministry Custody_

_The sensational trial of Frederick Cavendish came to a close on the evening of December 28, with the Wizengamot sentencing the Ministry psychiatrist and five of his associates - four of whom are medical practitioners - to ten years in Azkaban. The Wizengamot, which was headed by Calliope Mitchell, found Cavendish guilty of circulating addictive prescription drugs among Ministry employees without adequate cause, and illegally providing them with extra quantities for much higher rates. According to a petition submitted by a Wizengamot member of the Ministry, this racket has been continuing for the last five years or so. Although the Wizengamot is in possession of the names of some of the employees who were buying the drugs from Cavendish, this has not yet been released to the press._

_Cavendish and his associates were taken into Ministry custody soon after the trial and will be shipped to Azkaban tomorrow morning. In the interim period, it is believed that the Ministry will be carrying out further investigation, to possibly understand how many more people are involved in the racket. The name of the Wizengamot member who initiated proceedings against Cavendish has not yet been revealed, since the petition was filed under utmost secrecy. However, sources reveal that this particular member - rumored to be a woman - was also part of the bench that sentenced him. It is also believed that (s)he launched an off-record investigation against Cavendish, although this is yet to be confirmed by the Ministry._

Harry put down the paper and looked across the grim hospital corridor to his wife.

'There's no mention of Hermione,' he said, wearily. 'The press doesn't know of this yet. That's some solace.'

Ginny nodded. She was equally exhausted. She had stayed behind with Ron the previous night and Harry had rushed back to St Mungo's as soon as his meeting with Stratford was over. Sirius had also volunteered to wait with them for further news. Ron and he were currently snorting softly, uncomfortable stretched out on the metal chairs in the waiting area.

She let a hand drop to her stomach and then stole another glance at Harry. His face sported prominent dark circles, but she could tell that despite his exhaustion, his mind was still furiously working. He had recounted his entire meeting with Stratford with her, including the bit about the Daily Prophet journalist. It was something which had clicked in an unsettling manner in her mind. Ginny felt she ought to remember something; but what it was, she couldn't for the life of her imagine.

'It couldn't be that tough to find out whom Hermione approached to investigate this matter for her,' she said, contemplatively. 'It'll just take a bit of looking into things.'

Harry looked skeptical. 'I highly doubt whoever it is would stick around in London. The news of the attack on Hermione might not have spread, but she still would have been nervous. She'll be skipping town as soon as possible.'

'Are you sure it's a she?'

Harry frowned, trying to remember. 'Pretty sure, yeah. The few times Hermione spoke about this, I seem to remember her referring to her asset as a woman.'

Ginny lapsed into silence. Her gaze trailed over to where her brother was sleeping. Ron had been up the entire night, fretting and asking the Healers continuously about Hermione's condition. They had been patching and sewing her up and had very little time to deal with his persistent enquiries, though. Finally, Ginny had urged him to sleep, promising him she'd wake him as soon as there was any news. Sirius, who had been sitting glumly beside them the entire time, had dozed off soon after Ron. And then Harry had returned.

It was around five in the morning now, and the air was chiller than ever. Ginny pulled Sirius's bomber jacket closer around her shoulders and then whispered, 'If only we'd gone home with her.'

'We don't even know if she went home after the trial,' Harry said, grimly. 'I was discussing it with Stratford.'

Ginny blinked. 'But- when she said goodbye to us- she said she'd be going back home.'

Harry nodded. 'But there was a gap of a few hours before then and when she drove up to the hospital. She might have gone home and left; or, she might not have gone home at all. Stratford is going to send a team to her apartment in a few hours. He'll have a couple of his men examine her car, too. His first priority is to find the journalist, though. He's convinced she's going to get out of London as soon as possible.'

Ginny nodded, looking worried. 'Will you be handling the case?' she asked, tentatively. Somehow, she felt that would not be a good idea. Harry was too close to this; he would work tirelessly to find out what had happened to Hermione, of course, but she knew that he was in no position to lead a full-fledged investigation.

To her relief, Harry shook his head. 'It'll stay with the Special Ops team and Stratford will handle it. But as soon as I can, I'm going to try and transfer some of my Aurors into his team. I want every free man and woman working on this,' he said, with a determined expression. He paused for a moment and then added, 'Sometime tomorrow, they're going to want to talk to you. All of us, actually. We were the last people to have seen her before- well, before this. You don't mind that, do you?'

Ginny scoffed. 'Of course not. I want them to solve this mystery as soon as possible.'

'They will. They'll soon get leads, I'm sure and try to determine what happened in those hours after she left the courtroom.'

They lapsed into silence again. Ginny felt a wave of tiredness wash over her; but sleep was the last thing on her mind.

'Her leg is broken,' Harry said, abruptly. Ginny looked up in surprise.

'What?'

'One of her legs. It's broken. I don't know the full details of her injuries, but Stratford said that whoever did this to her broke her leg. And in that condition, she drove her fucking car to St Mungo's alone. Stratford reasoned that she probably used her good leg to switch between the pedals. She probably stalled several times. It would have taken her a while to get here, and the whole time, she was bleeding and wounded.'

Ginny saw his face crumple slightly. She knew that he was blaming himself. She was too. If they had gone home with Hermione, if they had asked her back to their flat for dinner-

Something clicked in her head.

_Her leg is broken_.

'Harry!' she said, suddenly. She was louder than she intended. Sirius opened in his eyes and Ron grunted in his sleep.

'What's the matter?'

'I just remembered something. Hermione was in touch with a journalist at the Daily Prophet. I- I met her once!'

Harry smiled sleepily at her. 'I'm sure she was in touch with more than one. She was a member of the Wizengamot, after all, they'd have been pestering her for quotes all the time. But that doesn't mean-'

'No, wait,' Ginny cut in. 'Wait- it isn't that simple. There was a particular girl. She used to speak to Hermione pretty often. I remember because once when I was there, she was in Hermione's office. It was when Hermione had first filed the petition against Cavendish, so this girl had come down to interview her.'

Harry frowned. 'Do you know her name?'

'No. But she had black hair. I remember waiting outside Hermione's office, because her secretary told me that the interview was going on. Then, I heard raised voices. A girl's voice - it wasn't Hermione's - shrieking something. She said, '_If they find out, they'll break my legs! And yours, too!'_

Sirius sat up very straight. 'That sounds- that definitely sounds as though-'

'As though she were Hermione's asset?' Harry turned this thought over in his head. 'Yes, it does, doesn't it. It sounds as though she were the one. It also sounds as though she were worried. Stratford's right to worry she might skip town. Did you have a look at her, Ginny?'

Ginny nodded. 'Briefly, when she was leaving the office. Like I said, she had black hair. And a nose ring. I asked Hermione about it when I went in, and she repeated what her secretary had said; that the girl was interviewing her about the petition. I remember reading the interview the next day as well, too, and thinking it was incredibly well-written.'

A strange expression crossed over Harry's face. 'The interview came out the next day?'

Ginny nodded. 'It was the first interview that she gave to the press after filing the petition.'

Harry jumped to his feet. 'I'm going back to the Ministry,' he said, 'I have to find Stratford and have him put someone on going through old copies of the Prophet. Ginny, I think you've found Hermione's asset.'

* * *

At half-past six in the morning, Gwendolyn silently locked her front door behind her.

She was dressed in a long beige coat and wore a gray wool cap over her mass of shiny dark hair. She held a single traveling case in one hand and a letter for her landlord in the other. A bundle of notes - all her savings, which she normally hid in a coffee tin in her kitchen - were tucked into her coat pocket.

Her landlord lived a floor below her so she tiptoed down to slip the note under his door. She had added a few notes to it - rent, which no doubt, would keep him satisfied. She walked quietly to his door, careful not to disturb the early morning stillness, and slipped it under.

She felt better then; all her preparations were complete. A letter had been sent to her aunt, she had identified the train that would take her to Foxhole and she had packed carefully. Now, all that was left was to leave. She'd stay there for a month - a quick letter to her editor would explain the circumstances and she'd forfeit the month's pay. When she came back, things would have died down here. It would be safer.

Her pace quickening, she went down the stairs and walked down the narrow driveway of Windsor Heights. She would walk to the alley behind the complex and then apparate to the station, she decided.

But as she approached the front gate, she noticed something. Three men, wearing navy blue Auror robes, were flanking the entrance. Their wands were held at ready. She slowed down slightly but then grit her teeth and set forward. Whoever these men were, they were clearly from the Ministry. They didn't pose her any danger; they couldn't possible be sent by Cavendish.

But as she approached, one of them stepped forward. He was tall, broad-shouldered man with a fine crop of auburn hair, touched here and there with gray. His face was lined but still handsome.

'Gwendolyn Cottonsmith?' he asked.

She hesitated. 'I- yes.'

'Good morning. My name is Lawrence Stratford, and I work for the Special Ops team of the Auror Department. If you could accompany me, please? We have a lot to discuss.'

* * *

**Author's Note: And so the plot thickens. Be nice and give me feedback, please.**


	6. Eggs and Guilt

**CHAPTER SIX**

Sirius ate a solitary breakfast in the hospital cafeteria the next morning.

He sat alone at one of the plastic tables, playing with the bowl of scrambled eggs and two limp pieces of toast on his tray. Technically, he should have been ravenous but somehow, he found he had no appetite at all. His mind had been frantically going over little details, contemplating different angles, trying to figure out exactly what had happened to Hermione after he last saw her.

He remembered saying goodbye to her after the case. She had been surrounded by her friends and well-wishers. They had been congratulating her, telling her they'd always believed in her. Ron had been standing by her side, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Sirius had smiled at her from afar and she had flashed him a look.

Later on, after Harry and Ginny had left, he had walked up to her and murmured, 'Congratulations.'

She had glanced around quickly. Ron had left to pick up her case files from the courtroom, but they both knew he'd be back before they knew it.

'Thanks,' she whispered.

'You were fantastic in there today, Hermione.'

She flashed him a sweet smile. 'I was worried. But we had enough information. The verdict couldn't have been anything else.'

She had looked over her shoulder once more, ascertained that Ron wasn't there and then turned back, urgently.

'Can you come over tonight?'

Sirius blinked. He had assumed she'd want to celebrate with Ron tonight. After all, he was her fiance.

'I- isn't Ron going to be-?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I suppose he'll want to,' she said, in a discontented tone. 'But I'm sure I can ask him to push it a little later. Maybe after ten? That way, we'd have a few hours-'

Hermione grinned cheekily and in a moment of rashness, she had leaned forward and quickly kissed his cheek. Both of them turned around automatically after, to see if anybody had noticed. But no one seemed to have.

'Owl me if you're coming,' she said, before turning to leave. Ron was approaching with her files. 'I'll tell Ron not to get home until ten.'

* * *

Sirius put a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth and chewed in an absent sort of way. He pictured Hermione going home, changing out of her Wizengamot robes and running a bath. She would have made something simple to eat, kept a bottle of wine to chill for Ron, who would be coming later. He had never owled her.

As he bit into a piece of toast, he heard someone clear his throat and looked up to see Ron. His face was still white and despite the snatches of sleep he'd had during the night, he looked tired and forlorn. He held a tray of cold pizza.

'You look terrible,' Sirius remarked.

'I feel it. Sirius- thanks for driving Ginny here. She was worried to death when she found Harry's note.' Ron pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. He bit into a slice of pizza and dabbed at a bit of sauce on his chin with his finger.

Sirius shook his hand. 'Nothing to it. I'd have come earlier, if I'd known.'

He put down his fork and then added, 'Ron, did you have dinner with Hermione last night?'

Ron's expression changed slightly. If possible, he looked even more miserable than he did before. 'No,' he said, in a broken whisper. 'I was supposed to. We had planned to have a quiet dinner, just the two of us, to celebrate. But I opted out at the last moment. We're recruiting two new team members and there was a pile of files of potential candidates for me to go through. Hermione said she understood, she'd spend the evening by herself. And now- I keep thinking-'

'Don't,' Sirius said, shortly. He could see where this conversation was going, and he was in no mood to listen to Ron blame himself. Fearing he had been a bit too abrupt, he added, 'Don't beat yourself up. You couldn't have known. Have the Aurors- do they have any leads yet?'

Ron hesitated for a moment. 'They're checking out on Cavendish's guys.'

Sirius nodded. When Harry had come back and reported about his meeting with Stratford, something had snapped inside him. He didn't know why he hadn't come to the same conclusion. It seemed terribly logical. Hermione had got Cavendish into trouble, and obviously, he was making her pay. He didn't know why he assumed-

'When Ginny first told me,' he said, suddenly, 'I thought for one crazy moment that Hermione had hurt herself on purpose.'

Ron let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. 'Hermione? Try to kill herself?'

Sirius looked sheepish. 'I know. It's stupid. But for some reason, I never thought of Cavendish at all.'

Ron finished his first slice of pizza and pushed the tray away. He seemed to have lost his appetite. 'Hermione would never hurt herself,' he said, 'She'd be the last person to do something like that. Besides, she was on top of the world. She had everything going for her last night. She won the case.'

He lapsed into silence. Sirius continued to eat his scrambled eggs, although he wasn't in the least hungry. It was a subconscious, automatic sort of action. He needed to keep his hands busy.

'On the other hand,' Ron began.

Sirius looked up. 'On the other hand, I don't blame you for not jumping to the conclusion that Cavendish did it. After all, Hermione filed her petition anonymously. No one knew she was behind it. As long as Cavendish didn't have a sneak on the inside, Hermione'd be just another Wizengamot member for him. Logically speaking, he should have gone after Calliope Mitchell.'

'You're right,' Sirius said, thoughtfully. 'But you've put your hand on it, then. Cavendish obviously knew that Hermione was behind it. Which means-'

He broke off. The thought that someone in the Wizengamot could have sneaked on Hermione to Cavendish was frightening. But as he mulled over it, Sirius realized that the Ministry was not a place to keep secrets. There would have been a select few who knew that Hermione had sold the petition. And since all of Cavendish's clients had not yet been identified, it was possible that one of them had dished the information.

It was a disturbing thought.

'There are still 24 hours before Cavendish is shipped to Azkaban,' he said, quietly. 'They'll keep interrogating him, to get the names of more of his clients. If there was a sneak, he won't last long.'

'I hope not,' said Ron. Watching him carefully, Sirius saw that he had teared up slightly. 'I just hope- I just hope she'll be alright.'

And for the first time since Sirius had started sleeping with Hermione, he felt sorry for her fiance.

* * *

When they got back to the waiting area, they saw that two of the Healers - Elspeth and Patricia - had come out of the OR. They were gathered around Harry and Ginny. Stratford, Phillip and a third Auror, who Sirius recognized in a vague sort of way as someone Harry knew reasonably well - were also there. Ron broke into a sort of semi-run with Sirius close on their heels. When they reached the little group, Harry turned to them.

'Well?' Ron demanded.

Elspeth stepped forward. 'We've done the best we could,' she said, soberly. Beside her, Patricia looked dead on her feet. Elspeth added, 'We wanted to contact her family to discuss the nature of injuries and what procedures they'd like-'

'We're her family,' Ron said, roughly. 'I'm her fiance. This is my sister, and Harry here is my sister's husband. Her parents are in Australia, so we're the closest family she's got.'

'Then come with me,' Elspeth said. 'We'll go to Paul's office. Er-'

Her voice trailed off as she glanced questioningly at Sirius.

'He's family too,' Ginny said, firmly. 'A sort of uncle. He's coming with us.'

Elspeth nodded and then led them up to Paul's office. Paul was obviously preparing to leave for the day. He had cleared up his desk and looked up, with mild surprise, when they entered.

'Are you done with her?' he asked, looking at Elspeth.

The latter nodded. 'For now.'

'So she's alright?' Ron demanded.

Elspeth hesitated. She and Paul exchanged glanced.

'I'll be frank with you,' she said, finally. 'I can't say for sure. She's been hurt very badly. Her leg was broken, she was bruised and burned and her- well, her stomach was cut open. We found fragments of glass in her intestinal tract, so our best guess is that someone used a shard of glass - around six inches open - to slash at her. We had to sew it back up but there's still a chance of infection. Whoever did this has also - er - also slashed at her vagina. We're hopeful she'll pull through, but we can't be sure.'

Ron's eyes had widened at the description she put forth before them. Ginny inhaled sharply and put a hand to her mouth. Harry's face was alive with a burning anger. But Sirius's gaze was on Paul. There was something calculative in the way he was watching Elspeth.

'There's more,' Elspeth said, grimly. 'She's also pregnant.'

At that, Sirius's stomach dropped. 'P-pregnant?' he stuttered.

'Pregnant. And given the timing, it's safe to assume that whoever got her pregnant also caused her these injuries. She's definitely been raped.'

Ron's eyelids fluttered closed. Ginny leaned over and gently put her palm over his, trying to comfort him.

'What do we do about this?' he asked, quietly.

'Frankly,' Paul interjected, 'It isn't up to any of you. Even in cases of rape, it's up to the mother to decide what to do with a fetus. We'll have to wait for Hermione to decide. That is - if she -' he broke off them, uncertain of how to finish that sentence.

'She hasn't woken up yet,' Elspeth continued. 'She lost consciousness soon after driving herself here. Frankly, it's a miracle that she managed to get here on her own in the first place.'

There was silence for a moment. Everyone in the room seemed to be trying to digest the manner in which Hermione had been mutilated. Then, Stratford said, 'Paul, we're going to need all this in writing.'

'You'll get it,' Paul said, promptly, 'I'll include a secrecy clause, don't worry. Nobody in this hospital will be allowed to talk to the press or anyone else.'

Stratford looked surprised but pleased. He turned to Harry. 'I've detained the journalist in my office. We were right - she was trying to skip town. Said she was going to see an aunt in Foxhole. Either way, now that we have her, I thought we'd check out Hermione's apartment as a first priority. See if there are any signs that she did make it home that night.'

'I'll come with you,' Harry said, at once.

'So will I,' Ron added. Stratford looked like he was going to protest but Harry shot him a glance and he closed his mouth.

* * *

**Author's Note: This one took a while but hopefully, it's worth it =)**


	7. Conversations and Apartments

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Hermione knew she must wake up.

She knew it, but she also knew that it wouldn't be easy. The pain hadn't abated in the slightest. She still felt broken, bruised and on fire. But somehow, she was conscious that it was very important she wake up.

She wondered why, vaguely. It was comfortable in this state of oblivion. She was safe as long as she didn't open her eyes and see what was in front of her. Nobody could harm her again?

Somehow, that thought touched a chord with her. Who had harmed her in the first place?

* * *

Sirius and Ginny sat side by side in the waiting area, wondering whether the Healers would come out to give them news soon.

A team of them had filtered into Hermione's OR again sometime around eleven. Elspeth had given that a highly technical explanation - something to do with checking for infection, removing portions of her vital organs which could be diseased, ensuring she didn't have a cardiac arrest or any kind. Harry and Ron had left with Stratford's team to check out Hermione's apartment. Harry had tried his best to convince Ginny to go back home, but she had gently refused.

'I'm staying here,' she said, softly. 'Ron wants to come to the apartment too and if Hermione wakes up, I don't want her to feel alone.'

Harry bit his lip. 'You shouldn't overexert yourself,' he said, 'The baby-'

'The baby's fine, Harry, don't worry. Besides, Sirius will be here. He'll take care of me,' Ginny murmured. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. 'Go with Stratford. I'll meet you at the apartment later in the evening, alright?'

A tad unwillingly, Harry had gone. Sirius had brought Ginny breakfast on a tray - along with a cup of decaffeinated coffee - had borrowed an extra shawl from one of the nurses to drape around her shoulders and wasn't letting her out of his sight for even a moment. Ginny found the constant attention touching.

'It's nice of you to be here,' she said, quietly. 'I didn't know who else to turn to when I found Harry's note.'

Sirius offered her a smile. 'It's lucky that I was at the flat, rather than Grimmauld Place. It's close enough for you to walk over. Either way, I'd have wanted to be here.'

Ginny nodded, a little preoccupied. 'Do you remember the last time we saw Hermione?'

'I can't stop thinking about it,' Sirius said, gravely.

'It was outside the courtroom. She was so, so happy. She'd finally won the case. She was going to go home and celebrate. Ron and she were planning a vacation next month. They thought they'd go to Paris.'

Sirius raised his eyebrows slightly. This was the first he was hearing for this.

He was used to this, though. Hermione never spoke to him of her relationship with Ron; they had been engaged for four months before she and Sirius and fallen into bed together, and he respected that this was territory he shouldn't touch. He had always known that Hermione loved Ron deeply. They had a sense of companionship that he would never have with her - something born out of years or friendship, pain, good times and bad.

But although Hermione loved Ron, he knew that she loved him too. It was a different sort of love; it wasn't the stable, deep, understanding love that took a couple through life together. It was something more passionate and frantic; a sort of infatuation that had broken all barriers.

Infatuations cooled off, though. Love didn't.

'Hermione and Ron have been engaged for a while, haven't they?' he asked Ginny, casually.

Ginny smiled. 'A year now.'

'When are they planning to have the wedding?'

Ginny shrugged. 'We've been asking them for ages. Ron wanted a quick engagement - six months or so - and he wanted to get married at the Burrow, like Bill did. But Hermione wanted to delay it. I think it was because of work; she felt she needed more time to concentrate on that right now, especially because of the Cavendish case.'

Sirius digested this piece of information. This was something else he hadn't known. For the first time, the constraints of his relationship with Hermione became very apparent.

Ginny sighed and spooned the last bit of poached egg off her tray into her mouth. She drained her coffee and then pushed the empty cup aside. 'Ron's devastated,' she said, quietly.

Sirius remembered his white face and dark-rimmed eyes.

'I know.'

'I suppose he feels responsible in a way. He was supposed to have dinner with Hermione and he backed out. If he'd been there...'

She didn't complete that thought.

They lapsed into a companionable silence, Ginny stroking her belly every now and then. Sirius was still mulling over what could have happened the night before. He kept picturing the last moment he had seen Hermione-

The door to the OR cracked open and Patricia stepped outside. Her face was set in a grim line. Sirius sprang to his feet.

'How's she doing?' he demanded.

Patricia bent her head slightly. 'I wish I could say she's better, but I can't be sure. But she's showing signs of waking up. We thought it would be best if her family and friends were with her when she did.'

* * *

Harry, Ron, Stratford and his team of three Aurors reached Hermione's apartment around lunchtime. They crowded around the front gate of the four-storey brownstone building. Harry was acutely conscious of the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since the previous night. His stomach was growling; but there would be time for food later.

Ron, who had been looking like a ghost while they were at the hospital, was suddenly filled with energy. Harry cast his best friend a sympathetic glance. He was silently thankful that Stratford had let Ron come with them to the apartment. He knew that lingering outside OR was the worst thing for him at the moment.

'This is where she lived?' Stratford asked, peering up at the apartment. He had brought Phillip along with him, as well as two more enthusiastic Aurors, named Sebastian and Roy.

Harry nodded. He lead them into the prim lobby and then up to the second floor. Hermione's front door was painted a fetching shade of blue. It was flanked with two blue and white china pots, which had daisies in them. A placard with a colorful ceramic mosaic proclaimed her name.

'Cute,' Roy muttered.

'I have the key,' Ron said. He took it out dully and slid it into the luck.

'Piece of luck, that,' Stratford said, approvingly. Harry wondered whether to tell him that Ron and Hermione practically lived together, but then decided against it. 'We'd have had to break down the door otherwise. Always better to avoid,' continued Stratford, 'She came to the hospital with a handbag, but there was no key in it. I rather fancy it was the sort of bag with a few papers and emergency items that people keep with them in their cars at all times. Anyway, boys, when we're in, look for anything that suggests she had a visitor last night. We need to establish whether the attack took place here or-'

But as Ron swung open the door, Stratford's voice cut off.

There was little doubt that the attack had taken place anywhere else.

* * *

Ginny almost screamed when she saw Hermione.

She couldn't help it. She let out a choked cry and her hand flew to her mouth. Sirius, who was standing just behind her, exhaled sharply. His eyes widened.

Her face was still pale white, the black eye standing out profusely. She was still stark naked. The Healers had attended to the worst of her bruises and burn marks, but many of them were turning an ugly shade of purple and standing out against her pale skin. Her broken leg had been mended, but the skin was still bright red. And her torso was in a terrible, terrible condition.

The Healers had patched it up as best as they could with a combination of old-fashioned stitches and some advanced spells. But garish red lines still slashed across it. In some parts, they had been unable to do a thorough job and here, traces of blood, strands of muscle and some of her intestines were still visible. Ginny choked. It was impossible to believe that this battered, broken figure on the table was Hermione.

'Oh god,' Sirius muttered. He was thinking of the last time he saw her, again; it was impossible to get that image out of his mind. She had looked tall, strong and full of life and emotion. And now-

'Like I said, it's quite bad,' Elspeth said, looking disturbed. 'We've done the best we can for now. We'll have to keep monitoring her, of course, to make sure that infection doesn't spread internally. But for now, we can give her body a bit of a rest. She's been cut up and put back together too much over the last 18 hours.'

Ginny nodded wordlessly.

'We'll give you two a moment with her,' Elspeth continued, gesturing for everyone else in the room to leave. They filtered out one by one. 'When her fiance comes back, I'll send him in.'

When the room was empty, Ginny walked over to the table and gently smoothed the hair off Hermione's brow.

'Poor, poor thing,' she murmured.

Sirius didn't know what to say. He crossed forward and delicately took her hand, worried about hurting her in any way. He saw Ginny cast him a strange glance but at that moment, he didn't care.

'I'm going to kill whoever did this to her,' he muttered.

As he said that, Hermione let out a little sigh. It wasn't a fully conscious of coherent noise; more like a burst of air escaping through her lips. Ginny pressed forward. 'Hermione?' she asked, softly.

No response. She bent lower and whispered the name again. Sirius pressed down gently on Hermione's arm. He touched the tips of her fingers.

'Hermione?' he whispered.

Her eyes flickered open.

* * *

**Author's Note: And so things pick up. It's been a while, which I apologize for. Thanks to everyone who left reviews.**


	8. Tureens and Awakenings

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

'Holy fuck,' Stratford muttered.

Hermione's apartment was in complete disarray. The first thing the team saw, as they stood at the doorway, was an overturned foyer table. One of its legs was broken and a china ornament, which had stood propped up on it, was lying broken on the floor.

Ron let out a little yell and rushed into the room. Harry and Stratford were close in his heels.

'Oh hell,' Ron groaned.

The apartment was in chaos. The foyer led straight to an oval-shaped dining room. The table was flung over on one side, her cutlery was lying all over the place and a tureen, which had the remains of what looked like soup, had rolled to the bedroom door. There was a large splash of blood by the tureen and another by the mantelpiece, where it had stained a delicate cream-embroidered rug. A few ornaments, which had been on the mantelpiece, were also smashed on the floor.

'No question of where the crime took place,' Sebastian said, dryly. He stepped forward and gestured towards the tureen, which was lying on the floor. There was a faint smudge of red on one side. 'Looks like he hit her with this, among other things. The Healer said she had a slight concussion and bruises all over. This could be what it did it.'

'Take it in,' Stratford said, tersely. He turned his attention to the mantelpiece. Harry joined him there, his face white and mouth drawn in a line.

'That was a favorite of hers,' he said, pointing to the remains of a small porcelain saucer, inlaid with lapis lazuli. 'She got it at an antique store.'

Ron moved off towards the dining table, with a lost look on his face. Stratford said sharply, 'Don't touch anything, Ron. I highly doubt there are fingerprints - every child knows simple spells that will take care of that - but there might be something in this mess that would give us a clue about what happened to her.'

'This mess,' Ron echoed, vaguely. He seemed to have gone into shock. Harry wondered how many lunches and dinners Ron had had with Hermione in this room; how many times they had cuddled on the sofa - which was now turned over and splashed here and there with blood - and then retired to the same bed.

'This is too much of a mess,' Roy said, quietly. He was a thin wizard with straw-coloured hair and a quiet, deliberate manner. 'This isn't the by-product of an attack. Someone's gone out of their way to create this chaos. Look - say he attacks her first by the table, smashes her head in with the tureen-'

Ron let out a little choke. Harry looked slightly sick.

'-he probably got her into a semi-conscious state and then dragged her to that rug, going by these marks on the floor. He rapes her there. Maybe he dumps her near the sofa when he's done, which would explain the blood there. But why is that foyer table overturned? And that lamp, by that door?'

'That leads to the bedroom,' Ron said quietly.

Stratford walked slowly around the room, mulling over what Roy had said. 'You're right,' he agreed, finally. 'This is a deliberate mess. Whoever attacked her went around this room, knocking things over.'

Sebastian was examining the tureen. He straightened up and announced, 'No fingerprints.' Glancing around the room, he added, 'You can easily tell wherever he attacked her, because of the blood. Everything else - that little china corner, for instance - he wrecked just for the heck of it.'

Roy slid a camera out of his robe pocket and began to take a few pictures. Harry glanced around the room, still trying to absorb what he was seeing.

'But why- why would anyone want to do that?' Ron asked, slightly bewildered.

Stratford shrugged. 'Could be because he wanted to hide evidence. But I don't buy that in the least. It looks as though- as though this is pure spite. Someone wanted to hurt this woman. He hurt her and then he went on a spree and wrecked the whole apartment. Sounds implausible, I know. But from the condition of this flat-'

For a few seconds, there was silence. Roy continued to take pictures. Sebastian moved to the mantelpiece and began to examine the smashed ornaments there.

'That theory ties up with Cavendish,' Harry said, slowly. 'Nobody wanted to hurt her anymore than him. He had a good thing going and she ruined it for him.'

'He'd definitely have men on the outside,' Ron added. The initial shock seemed to be wearing off his face.

'So his guys came here right after the trial- followed her home from the court, maybe- attacked her, raped her and wrecked her house,' Roy theorized. He said it in a musing kind of way, as though to see how the scenario sounded when voiced out loud. Then, he shook his head and went back to taking pictures.

* * *

'Hermione,' Ginny breathed.

Sirius simply stared at her battered face. Hermione's eyes were bloodshot and the black circle around one was disturbing, but it was oddly comforting to see that pale shade of brown. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them, but she didn't say anything. From the glassiness of her gaze, Sirius surmised that she was still trying to figure out where she was and what was going on.

Ginny leaned forward and gently rested a palm on Hermione's temple. Immediately, Hermione flinched.

She opened her mouth. 'Don't,' she croaked.

Ginny snatched her hand back as though it had been burned. Sirius gently put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her back. 'She doesn't want to be touched,' he murmured, gently. 'She's probably still frightened. Stay back for a moment.'

Obediently, Ginny hung back. Hermione's eyes were still on the two of them, watching them with a careful wariness that was new to her. Then, she opened her mouth again.

'Whe-'

She couldn't finish because her voice caught in her throat. But Sirius understood.

'St Mungo's,' he said, 'You've been here since last night. You drove yourself to the hospital. Do you remember that, Hermione?'

She gave him a blank look, that he interpreted as a no.

Ginny took a deep breath. 'You've been- you've been beaten up pretty badly,' she breathed. 'How did it happen?'

But Hermione still looked blank. Her eyes flitted to Sirius and rested on him. Her expression changed slightly; something softened around the corners of her brows.

'Hermione,' Sirius said, gently. 'I know you're in pain. I know you can barely talk. But we want to catch the person who did this to you. The Aurors will be here in a bit, but we'd like you to tell us first. Who did this to you?'

Hermione croaked again. She seemed to be trying to clear her throat. For a few seconds, she mouthed soundless words. On the third attempt, though, she managed to string together a sentence.

'Trial,' she whispered, 'My trial is tomorrow. I need to get to the court.'

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the delay. My job isn't the most relaxing, and time is short. But I'm back, and I promise the next one will come sooner.**

**As always, please drop a review. Very encouraging, and all that.**


	9. Amnesia and Protection

**CHAPTER NINE**

'What do you want?' Gwendolyn asked, roughly.

She was tired, annoyed and altogether miserable. According to her carefully worked-out plan, she should have been at Foxhole by now. Aunt Stacy would have made her a hot, rich dinner and after a leisurely discussion on family gossip, she would have gone to bed. But uncharacteristically, her plan had not been executed to perfection. She was not at Foxhole; she was in a sober Auror's office. She had been waiting there since they'd detained her that morning and it the sun was now setting. She hadn't eaten, she had no idea where her traveling case was and she was pretty sure her Aunt Stacy would be worried by now.

Which was why, when Stratford entered his office later that evening, she was irritated.

'I want to speak to you,' Stratford said, calmly. He was used to aggressive people; he interrogated them on a daily basis. Normally, he took his suspects to a glass-panelled room on the third floor of the Auror Wing. But Gwendolyn wasn't here as a suspect; she was there as a potential informant and also because he wanted to keep an eye on her, which was why he decided his own, more private office was better.

'About what?' Gwendolyn asked, challengingly. Stratford didn't answer right away. He took off his coat with a lot of deliberation, draped it on the back of his chair and then turned to size up the girl in front of him. The first thing that struck him was that she was young; barely more than 22, he'd estimate. She was slim and dressed a little shabbily, with a camel-coloured coat over a faded gray dress. Her dark, shiny hair was pulled into a bun and a silver ring glinted in her nose. She looked sharp, he decided. Probably a damn good reporter.

'You work for the Daily Prophet, don't you?' Stratford asked, conversationally.

Gwendolyn looked a little suspicious. 'Yes,' she relented.

'Crime reporter, I believe?'

She nodded and then added, in a bit of a rush, 'It's only been a year and a half.'

'Correct me if I'm wrong, but have you been communicating with a certain Wizengamot member named Hermione Granger for the last one year?'

The blood drained from Gwendolyn's face. Stratford smiled. _Bingo_.

'Why do you ask?' Gwendolyn asked, guardedly.

Stratford debated on how much to tell this girl. His instinct, in all cases, was to withhold as much information as possible. A decade in the profession had taught him that facts had a way of getting around; one person told another, who told another and before you knew it, confidential information had become common knowledge. But this case was different. Gwendolyn had been working closely with Hermione for a year and he knew that if anyone could shed more light on this case, it would be her.

He took a deep breath. 'Because last evening, after Hermione Granger went home, she was brutally attacked, raped, cut open and left for dead. She managed to get herself to St Mungo's, where she was immediately admitted.'

Gwendolyn's eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. Stratford could easily interpret her expression: pure horror.

'Granger was attacked?' she whispered, uncertainly.

Stratford nodded. 'Brutally,' he said. 'Someone has wrecked her body with a whole lot of malice. This is a hate crime, if anything.'

If possible, Gwendolyn's face took on an even paler shade. Stratford could see the cogs of her mind whirring; Hermione had upset Cavendish's racket. She, Gwendolyn, had helped her do it. And now, Hermione was lying mutilated in a hospital. He gave her a minute to absorb the shock and then smiled broadly and spread out his hands.

'You can see the position I'm in,' he said, easily. Gwendolyn nervously fidgeted with a strand of her hair. Stratford continued, 'I'm trying to get as much information as possible about her attacker. Logic suggests that Cavendish is somehow behind this. But Hermione hasn't woken up yet; which is where we come to you.'

Gwendolyn swallowed. 'How do you know I was involved with this? Granger promised she wouldn't tell anyone.'

'She didn't. But we knew that a Daily Prophet employee was involved and with a few helpful hints, put two and two together. Now, I need your help. I understand you're worried for your safety, which is why you were leaving London. We can keep you safe. But we need you to assist us in return.'

'How can you keep me safe?' Gwendolyn challenged. 'Granger knew how to take care of herself and look what happened to her. If I was worried enough to skip town before, I'm worried enough to skip the fucking country now. Are you telling me you can promise that Cavendish's men won't touch me?'

Stratford was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'Not many people knew this, but there is a certain wing of the Ministry which has a series of rooms. Each of them is a safe house. We use them to protect witnesses, assets and informants. They are guarded by a complex cocktail of spells and in addition to this, two security guards stay outside the entrance to the Wing at all times. If you were to help us, one of those rooms would be yours.'

He watched Gwendolyn as she chewed on this piece of information. She loathed the idea of giving up her secrets, he could tell. But given how scared she was, he also knew that a safe house in the Ministry was a dream come true for her.

Finally, she said, 'What do you want to know?'

Stratford exhaled loudly and leaned back in his chair. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. He got up and checked once more that the door to his office was locked, before putting a soundproof spell on the entire room. He charmed a quill to record the entire conversation and then turned to face Gwendolyn.

'When did Hermione Granger first approach you?'

'It was just before she decided to file the petition. She knew that Cavendish was up to something, but she knew she'd have to get more information before her case could stand up in court. I had just joined the Prophet at the time, and I'd done a routine call to let her know that I was taking over the crime beat. I didn't really expect her to stay in touch with me - she was much too senior,' Gwendolyn said, dully. She spoke without any real inflection in her voice.

Stratford watched her closely. 'But she did get in touch with you?'

Gwendolyn nodded. 'About a week after that. She sent me an owl, asking me to meet her at her office. I thought- well, I thought she was about to make my career. Give me some sort of exclusive scoop. Instead, she gave me a job that practically ruined my life,' she said, bitterly.

'What did she tell you, exactly?'

Gwendolyn laughed. 'Oh, she didn't lie or hide things from me, if that's what you mean. She put all her cards on the table. Told me what she suspected Cavendish of doing, told me there were probably more people involved, said she wanted facts and solid proof, that would stand up in court. I knew it was dangerous, of course. But I was broke, and she offered me 2,500 galleons to get the job done. _You_ try saying no to that.'

'No one's judging you here,' Stratford said, mildly. 'That's a lot of money.'

Gwendolyn sighed. 'I know. It was. But I wonder now whether it was worth it. Anyway, Granger gave me a month to give her something solid and said we'd take it from there. I wasn't supposed to discuss this with anyone, least of all my editor; it was to remain strictly off the record. She got my a Ministry badge too, so I'd be able to slip in and out without people asking too many questions.'

'Where did you start?' Stratford asked, curiously. It struck him, suddenly, that the girl sitting in front of him had a lot of grit and determination.

A spark came into Gwendolyn's eye. 'I used that pass to get into the Ministry almost everyday,' she said, candidly. 'I started to hang around - sometimes Disillusioned - and spy on people. Eventually, I began to identify people who were buying drugs from Cavendish. They were always the ones with the most nervous breakdowns, who had to keep going back to his office to get pills. Once I got that, it was easy. It was tedious, time-consuming work. I started to take pictures of their meetings and then slowly, I began to identify the others - Leech and Carlson, for instance - who were helping Cavendish with this entire racket.'

Stratford was impressed. She might describe this as tedious, time-consuming work, but he knew that uncovering the details of a racket as big of this needed something more than time. It needed drive.

'You must have got worried at some point?' he asked, casually.

Gwendolyn pressed her lips together very tightly. 'I did,' she admitted, finally. 'I overheard Cavendish talking to Leech once. Leech had bungled with a prescription- addressed it to the wrong patient. I was Disillusioned and standing in the room while they were talking. Cavendish said that if he bungled up like that again, he'd break both of Leech's legs and throw him into the Thames.'

Her mouth curled downwards distastefully as she spoke. Then, she continued, 'I went to Granger right after that. Told her I'd had enough. But Granger was having none of that; she told me she'd paid me in advance and I was skipping out on her. Said that Cavendish would never find out I was behind this; she'd protect me, so on and so forth.'

She was silent for a moment, and then said, bitterly, 'She couldn't even protect herself. I'm completely screwed now, aren't I?'

* * *

When Harry and Ron got back to St Mungo's, they couldn't find Ginny and Sirius in the waiting area. Instead, Rosalie was waiting for them, sporting a grim expression. She held a clipboard close to her chest and was occasionally glancing at it and ticking something off. When she saw the boys, her eyebrows knotted together and she gestured towards there.

'Paul's office,' she said, briefly. 'You'd better hurry.'

Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances. They were both exhausted and still reeling from their discovery at Hermione's apartment. They had spent hours with the Aurors, going over each shred of evidence. Now, apart from feeling slightly sick, they were both sleep-deprived and weary.

'What happened?' Harry asked, as they hurried up the stairs. Rosalie didn't reply immediately. The corners of her mouth tightened and she muttered, 'You'll see.'

When they got to Paul's office, they found Ginny and Sirius sitting there already. Both wore slightly shell-shocked expressions. Ron pushed his way inside and asked, roughly, 'What happened?'

Paul opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything, Ginny said dully, 'Hermione woke up.'

Harry's heart leapt and he saw Ron's eyes widen slightly. 'She's awake?'

Ginny nodded. 'Yeah. She spoke to us.'

She glanced at Sirius as she said that but he looked away.

'And?' Ron asked, urgently. 'Does she feel alright? Did she tell you who attacked her?'

Slowly, Ginny shook her head. She swallowed. 'Hermione doesn't - well, she doesn't remember anything.'

Harry felt his heart sink as she said that and beside him, Ron seemed to slump with exhaustion. Rosalie moved forward quickly, conjuring two chairs for them. They sank gratefully into them and then Ron said, 'Is she in shock?'

Paul stirred in his seat. 'It's a bit more complicated than that,' he said, carefully. 'Hermione seems to be suffering from some sort of amnesia. It's quite possible that the shock from the attack caused her to repress memories of it. It's common in people who have gone through serious trauma.'

Harry glanced at Ron. This was difficult for his friend, he knew. The latter was swallowing noiselessly and looked like he had hundreds of questions on the tip of his tongue. His face was pale.

Leaning forward, Harry asked, 'When you saw amnesia, does that mean - does she remember-?'

Paul held up a hand. 'Don't worry, her memory hasn't been wiped out completely. Those cases are exceedingly rare, especially among the magical populace; our magic makes us more resilient to memory loss. But she has no recollections of the day of the attack.'

'So she doesn't remember the trial?' Ron asked, disbelievingly. 'How can that be? It was the most important case of her life.'

'She doesn't remember it at all,' Ginny said, quietly. She glanced sideways at her brother and then her gaze dropped again. 'She thinks it's the morning of the trial. She keeps saying she has to get to the court.'

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't say anything. He glanced again at Sirius; his godfather hadn't said a word since they'd entered the room and he doubted he'd been particularly loquacious before that. Sirius' face was ashen and he looked slightly dazed.

Finally, Harry said, 'Can we go see her?'

**Author's Note: Obviously, I have literally no knowledge of anything related to memory loss, so I'm taking advantage of the fact that anything can happen in the Wizarding World. **


	10. Gowns and Lodgings

**CHAPTER 10**

'Hermione,' Ron whispered.

Hermione blinked and glanced at him. He swallowed as he saw the bruises on her face. The nurses had cleaned her up and dressed her in a lime-green hospital grown which, for some reason, seemed to make the battered portions of her body stand out more. Her face was pale under her wounds. She looked tired.

They had shifted her out of the operating theatre into a room of her own. Ginny had told Ron that when they were moving her, she had cried out in pain. Her midriff, which had been patched up as best the Healers could manage, was still incredibly sore and no amount of magic could do anything about that.

'They had to remove a portion of her intestines,' Ginny had whispered. 'They had started to fester. They don't know whether the rest of her innards will get infected or not.'

Ron had tried to digest this information but he was unable to it. He found it difficult to associate this broken, battered girl to his strong and beautiful fiancee. He wondered whether to take her hand, but it struck him that that might hurt her. Instead, he offered her a tender, watery smile.

'You're awake,' he said, softly.

He saw her glance slightly to the side.

'I'm the only one here,' he said, quickly. 'I wanted a moment with you. Harry will be here in a minute.'

Hermione opened her mouth. 'Stay with me,' she whispered.

Ron tried not to look shocked by how weak her voice sounded. He dragged a chair up to the head of her bed and sat down next to her.

'How are you doing?' he asked, slightly concerned.

She shook her head slightly but then winced. Ron had never seen her look so defeated before. Paul had told them that the Aurors had briefed her about her condition while they were in his office. They had told her about the attack - leaving out some of the more gruesome details and the worries concerning her gangrenous intestines - and briefed her on her memory loss.

She croaked. Without thinking, Ron leaned forward and grasped her hand. He let go quickly when he saw her wince.

'Still hurts,' she murmured.

'I'm so sorry. Hermione, I-'

His voice trailed away then, because he was unsure of what to say. He watched her carefully, alertly, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

'I don't remember,' she said, softly. Tears glinted at the corners of her eyes. 'I don't remember anything.'

'Baby, that's okay. We'll figure it out. Everything will be-'

She closed her eyes and Ron fell silent. When she spoke, there was a dullness in her voice, palpable behind all the pain. 'I can't remember the trial.'

Ron reached out and gingerly touched her hand. She didn't wince this time, so he let the tip of his index and middle finger rest against her palm, gently reminding her that he was there. 'You won it,' he said, quietly. 'And you were amazing. I came and saw you after the trial. We made plans to have dinner.'

A tear dropped from the corner of Hermione's eye. Ron debated whether to wipe it away but then decided against it. He was so clumsy he'd probably hurt her again.

'Did we?' she asked, softly.

Ron sorrowfully shook his head. 'I got busy and didn't come. I wish - oh, Herms, I wish I had now. You don't know how much I want to change that.'

She began to nod but stopped. Ron surmised that it had hurt her neck too much.

'Was Sirius there?' she asked, hoarsely. 'After - after the trial?'

Ron was silent for a moment. He looked thoughtfully at her.

'Yes,' he said, finally. 'He was there.'

* * *

'And that's all you know?' Stratford asked, slowly.

Gwendolyn looked annoyed. She exhaled sharply and leaned back against the chair, tapping her fingernails on the top of his desk.

'Yes,' she said, shortly. 'I wouldn't say _all_, though. That's quite a bit of information I've given you there.'

Stratford's gaze dropped to the yellow pad in front of him. The quill he had charmed to note down everything Gwendolyn said had been moving furiously across its surface; now, it lay motionless beside the pad. He had filled about eight pages with information.

'I suppose you have,' he conceded. 'But you're sure - absolutely sure - that there's no other little detail you remember?'

'I told you,' Gwen said, snappily. 'That's it.'

Stratford nodded. He ran his eyes over the notes. He knew he'd have to go over them carefully, prune through the mass of information and find out things that could help him. But it was almost midnight and he was exhausted. He needed a rest.

And so did Gwendolyn.

'Come with me,' he said, standing up abruptly. 'I'll take you to your new lodgings.'

Gwen followed him out of his office and through the black-tiled corridors of the Auror Wing. She had been up for nearly 36 hours now and felt slightly faint - partly from tiredness and partly because she was unable to digest everything that had happened to her in the last day. Her torrent of information, she knew, had been a little haphazard. But she was confident that Stratford would be able to piece it together eventually.

She was incredibly relieved that she would be sleeping at the Ministry tonight. The reality of what had happened to Granger had bitten her in the raw, and it felt good to know that an armed guard would ensure no one entered her bedroom. She remained silent as Stratford took them to the sixth floor via the elevator and then came to a halt in front of a padlocked guard with a navy-robed Ministry official in front of it.

'Stratford,' he muttered, flashing his ID card. The official stood back respectfully.

'Welcome to the Witness Protection Wing, sir. The necessary paperwork-'

'Will be in your hand tomorrow,' said Stratford. 'It's late and the lady here needs to get to bed.'

The official looked a little reluctant but eventually nodded. 'Room 4B is free,' he muttered.

Half an hour later, Gwen was safely ensconced in her new lodgings. She had been provided with a standard set of tan-coloured robes, a nightgown, a kit with soap, toothpaste and a brush and bottled water. The room, which was small, was painted white and decorated in a neutral fashion: a beige carpet, single bed with a maroon coverlet and dull light fixtures. There was an adjoining bathroom which was a study in ceramic blandness. She took a shower - the water wasn't as hot as she would have liked it to be - and then changed into her nightgown. Her bag, which had been confiscated by the Aurors, still hadn't been returned.

She sunk into bed when she was clean, pulling the blanket up close to her chin. The silence in the room was eerie - she was used to the sound of traffic through the night - but it felt good to finally be in bed. She closed her eyes but for some reason, she kept flashing back to her conversation with Stratford.

_'What do you want to know exactly?'_

_Stratford cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. 'Let's start with the basics. Who all were associated with the racket?'_

_She counted off her fingers. 'Carlson and Leech, of course. They were responsible for ensuring a steady supply of drugs came in from the manufacturers. They also took care of forging the documents needed for extra supplies.'_

_'Both in custody,' Stratford said._

_'Yes. Then there was Howard Pickett. He was, from what I could see, in charge of recruiting. He approached Ministry employees, suggested they get in touch with Cavendish. Handled PR, you could say.'_

_The quill beside Stratford was furiously taking notes. 'And?'_

_'Arnold Puce. He was involved in the racket more by default, I'd say. Leech was close to him. And Marlow Whitney. Marlow was Cavendish' goon, I think. He was a scary guy.'_

_Stratford nodded. 'These are the five in police custody. What about the others? What else did you tell Granger?'_

_Gwen screwed her brow in an effort to remember. 'There were a bunch of potentials. You know, people who helped Cavendish recruit victims. That was the toughest to point out, because you never knew who was being genuine. Someone would be having a tough time and then a friend would suggest they go see the Ministry shrink. How do you tell who's giving helpful advice and who's trying to get you hooked to drugs?'_

_'I understand. It must have been difficult.'_

_'It was. I'm sure he had more out there.'_

_'Did you ever speak to Leonie Cottilard?'_

_Gwen shook her head. 'She had left by the time I got on to the case. But Hermione told me about her. I tried to get in touch with her, but she refused. Poor woman; she had been through a lot.'_

_'So there's nothing you can tell me about her, then?'_

_'Nothing at all. I checked out her medication, though. Thought it might help me find out who else was taking drugs from Cavendish. She was taking a pretty powerful cocktail of drugs, from what I researched. There was pro- pro-'_

_'Pro-textorine.'_

_'That's right. And a bunch of others. I looked out for other people who were taking it in the Ministry, and rounded up a bunch of Cavendish's clients. Not surprisingly, none of the people who were working for him took any drugs. He kept them clean.'_

Enough.

'Go to sleep,' Gwen muttered to herself. She hated it when this happened - her body was limp with exhaustion but her head was buzzing with a million thoughts. For some reason, she felt that there was something she had missed. There was something she should have told Stratford, which she had forgotten to mention.

She remembered how he had asked her - twice, in fact - whether she had told him everything she knew. She had insisted that she had. But wasn't there something-?

What had it been?

_'What about his clients? Did you approach any of them?'_

_'No. Well, at least - there was this one Auror, named Patrick. Patrick White.'_

_'I know him. He was on my team. It was very ugly when he got involved in the trial.'_

_'Well, maybe he should have thought of that before-'_

_'No one's blaming anyone, Gwendolyn. Go on. What happened with Patrick?'_

_'Well, I staged a random meeting with him in the Ministry cafeteria once. Asked him casually whether he could tell me a good anti-depressant. He looked shocked and offended and walked away. After that, I realized there was no point approaching any of Cavendish's clients.'_

_'They were too alert?'_

_'Much too alert. They weren't going to give me anything - they were always wary, cautious about people suspecting them. They knew what they were doing was wrong. It was far beyond just visiting the Ministry shrink. So they were really careful about what they said. I thought I could get them to trip up, let slip the names of drugs - these aren't drugs most people know about, after all. But they were so, so careful.'_

_'Do you have a list of the names of these potential clients?'_

_Gwen nodded. 'I gave it to Granger. It's probably with her things.'_

_His eyes narrowed. 'And you're sure that's all you know?'_

Gwendolyn sighed. Fine. He had asked her three times.

**Author's Note: A little longer than usual but hopefully not too boring. Things will pick up a bit, now that Hermione's woken up. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Please do so again! =)**


	11. Coffee and Cars

**CHAPTER 11**

Despite the fact that she was exhausted, Gwendolyn didn't sleep well. She tossed and turned the entire night, until she drifted into an uneasy slumber at around five. She was woken up abruptly at eight by a sharp knock on her door.

After a few confused seconds trying to place exactly where she was, Gwen stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She pulled her camel-coloured coat on over her nightgown and then peeked through the peephole in her door, trying to see who was outside. She knew there was an Auror guarding her wing, but a little extra caution, she felt, wouldn't be a bad idea.

Through the distorted peephole, she was a lanky man with black hair. After contemplating for a minute, she opened the door - it was only then that she recognized him.

'You're Harry Potter,' she breathed.

Harry grinned. Gwen ran her eyes over the familiar features; lean face, messy hair, broad shoulders. He held out a hand and said, 'In the flesh. Pleased to meet you.'

She shook hands with him, still a little confused and sleepy. He seemed to notice this and instantly took charge of the situation.

'Could I come in a minute? Stratford told me you'd be here. And you needn't worry that I'm one of Cavendish's men in disguise. I already had to take Illusionary and Polyjuice tests at the entrance.'

She stood back dumbly and let him enter. As soon as he did, Harry stripped off his tweed jacket and draped it over bedstead. There was only one chair in the room so he offered it to her and perched on the side of the bed.

'Hermione might not have mentioned this to you,' he began, 'But I'm a pretty good friend of hers.'

'She didn't have to,' Gwen mumbled. 'Everyone knows that.' Her temples were aching and she wished she could have a cup of coffee. As if he read her mind, Harry dug into a satchel that she just noticed he was carrying and handed her a flask and a paper cup.

'I brought it from the Auror Wing,' he said, with a smile. 'I figured you wouldn't have had a pleasant night. Neither have I, for that matter. Did you know Hermione woke up?'

Gwen's eyes widened. 'Is she alright?'

'I don't know what to tell you. Physically, she's in a bad shape. The Healers have done what they could but we're waiting to see if any internal infection spreads. Mentally - well, she doesn't remember the day of the attack at all. She was briefed about it last night.'

Gwen took a swig of the coffee, ignoring the fact that it burnt her tongue and throat. She needed caffeine. She couldn't imagine Granger - strong, sometimes bossy Granger - lying in a hospital bed unable to remember anything. She drained her cup and then poured herself another.

'You look worried,' Harry said, deliberately.

'Of course I'm worried,' Gwen said, dully. 'Granger's in the hospital. What makes you think I'm not next?'

'So you're pretty sure it was Cavendish then?' asked Harry, watching her closely.

Gwen shrugged. 'I don't see that anybody else had it in for her, you know? The timing was a little suspect. I know she filed the petition anonymously but Cavendish had people in all the right places. He could have easily found out. And if he found out about her, he'll definitely find out about me.'

'Which is why,' said Harry, 'It makes sense for you to tell us everything that you know. This is no time to worry about keeping professional secrets. A woman's life is at-'

'For fuck's sake!' Gwen exploded. She sat forward so violently that some of her coffee slopped over the edge of the cup and stained the carpet. She hastily removed the stain with her wand and then transferred her attention back to Harry. 'Why the hell does everyone think that I'm keeping something back? I'm scared as hell here, and I'm not dumb enough to keep secrets from the Ministry!'

'I know you're not,' Harry said, calmly, 'But it could be that you're not approaching this situation with the gravity it requires.'

'Gravity?' Gwen asked, looking disbelievingly at him. 'I'm scared as _hell_ here. You think I don't understand the gravity?'

Harry offered her a slow, sideways-smile. 'No one's denying that you're scared, Gwendolyn,' he said, quietly, 'And you've spat out a lot of information in the heat of the moment because you wanted protection. But this shouldn't be a negotiation; it should be an alliance. What's most important to us is to find out who hurt Hermione and you need to start thinking about that too - not just about saving your own skin.'

Gwen threw him a scathing look. 'That's what Stratford told you, isn't it? He thinks I'm hiding something. He asked me a million times last night. Well, I'm not.'

'Maybe you need to think about it a bit more. People often find that small details escape them during first sittings. We've had it happen before with witnesses.'

'I'm not a witness,' Gwen snapped. 'I'm just an idiot who got stuck in the wrong situation.'

Harry watched her closely for a minute and then said, 'Put on your coat. I want you to come with me.'

* * *

Sirius hadn't wanted to go in and see Hermione. He had been plagued with indecision on the matter, ever since she had woken up. He had mixed feelings in this regard: on one hand, he wanted to see that she was alright. On the other, he wasn't sure of what all he remembered. He didn't know whether he could face her until he did.

He spent the night after her attack at the hospital, reclining on one of the uncomfortable metal-framed chairs. Ginny had gone back home and after spending a few hours with his fiancee, Ron had left with Sebastian and Roy, to continue the investigation. He had thought he'd simply camp outside Hermione's private room, hanging around in case of an emergency. But around 11 the next morning, while he was trying to see if he could get a decent cup of coffee at St Mungo's, Patricia approached him and said that it would be nice if he spent some time with the patient.

Sirius felt his heart sink.

'How is she?' he asked, automatically.

Patricia looked reluctant to answer. Finally, she said, 'We carried out some tests this morning. We can't tell for certain if the infection in her intestines is spreading. There are some traces, but they could be simply incidental. We've patched up her genitals, though-' Sirius winced at this - 'and her bruises are somewhat better. We've applied lots of ointment to them.'

Sirius wasn't sure how to respond to this statement.

'She's lonely, though,' Patricia continued, looking him straight in the eye. 'It's to be expected. And confused and desperately in need of some human company. We won't be attending to her again until the evening, unless there's a serious problem. It would be nice if you could spend some time with her.'

She seemed to understand that Sirius was reluctant to spend time with the patient and it was obvious that she despised him for it. Sirius couldn't blame her; there was no way she could understand. But he also knew there was no point delaying this indefinitely, so he said, 'Shall I go now?'

When he entered Hermione's room, he was prepared to see her at worst, which was why it wasn't much of a shock. She had been changed into a fresh lime-green gown and had a revolting mustard paste dabbed on the worst of her bruises, on her arms, legs and face. Her thick, unruly mass of hair, which had been rinsed clean of blood, was tied neatly behind. She couldn't sit up because of the wounds on her torso, though, and was lying down and staring at the ceiling. When she heard the door open, she stole a sideways glance at him and then a hint of a smile played on the edges of her mouth.

'Sirius,' she whispered.

He entered the room and shut the door firmly behind him. He didn't want anyone overhearing this conversation.

'Hermione,' he said, quietly, 'How are you feeling?'

She looked uncertain. 'Like crap,' she murmured, finally.

Sirius chuckled weakly and then sat down on the chair beside her bed, where he was pretty sure Ron had been sitting a while back. Hermione continued to stare balefully at him and he felt his heart thud in his chest. Finally, he said, 'Did they tell you what happened?'

She took a deep breath. 'What they know. Sirius - I can't remember -'

'Sh,' he said, softly. 'I know. They told me. It's alright, Hermione. Don't worry about that now. We'll work on your memory presently. Right now, just focus on getting better.'

Hermione sighed and then winced. Something in that movement seemed to hurt her. 'So many tests,' she mumbled. 'They said they need to make sure there's no infection in my intestines. It hurts so bad I can't imagine there's anything else.'

Sirius' expression softened and he leaned forward. 'Would it hurt you terribly if I held your hand?' he asked.

'Just touch it.'

He obliged and they sat in silence for a while. Then, Hermione said, 'Ron was here earlier.'

'I know.'

'He's feeling terrible about this. I don't know how to tell him it isn't his fault.'

'He knows it isn't, Hermione.'

Her gaze met his. 'I was going to tell him sometime soon,' she murmured, and traces of tears appeared at the corner of her eyes. 'About us, I mean. I don't know how to tell him now. I know delaying this makes you angry, Sirius, but-'

'Sh,' he said, again and increased the pressure on her hand very slightly. 'I don't want you to worry about any of that now. The Healers insist that you shouldn't put any stress on yourself whatsoever. Don't worry about everything else, Herms. You just focus on getting healthy again, for now.'

She offered him a week smile, which he returned. Then she said, 'Did you come for the trial?'

'Yes. You were brilliant.'

'I don't remember it at all.'

'It'll come back to you, Hermione. The Healers don't think your amnesia is permanent.'

She was silent for a moment. Then, she said, 'That's why I'm here, isn't it?'

'Here?'

'In this hospital bed. Because of the trial. Because of Cavendish.'

Sirius watched her closely. 'Do you think Cavendish did this to you, Hermione?'

She looked like she wanted to shrug but then thought better of it. 'Who else?' she murmured. 'Who else would rape me and torture me and leave me to die?'

Sirius looked shocked. 'Is that what the Healers told you?'

'Not so brutally. They used a lot of polite words. But that's what happened to me, isn't it?'

Sirius paused and then said, 'Yes. Yes it is.'

They lapsed into silence for a while and then he asked her something which had been worrying him for a while. 'Did they tell you about - about the baby?'

Fresh tears spilled down Hermione's face and she bit her lip. Sirius looked slightly alarmed.

'Yes,' she murmured. 'They told me. It's - it's _his_. Whoever did this to me.'

'You're sure-'

'It isn't you, Sirius. Or Ron. They say I conceived right before coming to the hospital.'

Sirius tried not to let the relief show too plainly on his face but he was sure she noticed it. She looked like she was about to smile and he suddenly realized that there were still traces of the old Hermione in this broken-down rape victim.

'Have you decided what you want to do about it?' he asked, gently.

She looked scornful. 'What do you think, Sirius? I don't want this child - I don't want any child. But the Healers say I'll have to wait for a bit before I get an abortion. My body won't be able to handle it in this stage. Whenever I'm better, I want this kid out of me.'

* * *

'Where are you taking me?' Gwendolyn asked, uncertainly.

Harry didn't reply. After she had dressed, he had brusquely led her out of the protected chambers, dismissing any objections the Aurors made. They had gone to an entirely different wing of the Ministry and then stepped into a long narrow corridor, at the end of which was a single door. Trying to get her bearings, Gwen surmised that they were actually heading _out_ of the Ministry block. When Harry opened the door, she was proved right. Bright sunshine poured in and she found herself facing a little courtyard with barb-wire fencing and the tingling sensation of thousands of protective spells, that ensured that no one could enter to exit it.

'Muggles can't see it,' said Harry, grimly. Gwen stared. The courtyard was heaped with what looked like scrap metal, twisted lamp posts and broken-down cars.

'What is this place?'

'It's where the evidence from different accident scenes are brought. They're stored here for the Auror Department to study before they have to present their analysis in court. That-' he pointed to a dilapidated little car - 'was Hermione's.'

Gwen groaned. The car was crushed in at front, its headlights smashes and splintered. Harry gripped her by the forearm and took her up to the vehicle. Casting a spell on his hand to ensure he wouldn't leave fingerprints, he pulled the door open.

Gwen almost screamed. The driver's seat of the car, originally a pale beige in color, was a bloody mess. There was a splintered tooth on the dashboard. The blood had splashed on the felt lining of the car as well and there were bloody fingerprints on the gear.

'Oh god,' she moaned.

Harry nodded. His mouth was set in a grim line. 'I know you've heard the details,' he said, 'But _this_ is what was done to Hermione. _This _is what she went through. Someone raped and brutally tortured her. So this isn't just about you saving your back; it's about getting justice for a girl who did nothing except the right things. Do you understand?'

* * *

**Author's Note: And I'm back! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, very encouraging as always. **

**Some of you left a note about the way I punctuate my quotations, which I admit isn't strictly correct. I don't really have any defense for this except that the first magazine I worked for followed this style sheet and so it stuck. That's probably also why I use a lot of British spellings, although the damn auto correct changes most of those for me.**


	12. Surgery and Wardens

**CHAPTER 12**

Three days after the attack, one of the Healers told Sirius that they were going to have to operate on Hermione. He had been camping out at St Mungo's for the last 72 hours, not bothering about showering or fresh clothes. All his meals had been hasty bites of greasy food at the hospital cafeteria. The rest of the time, he had been drinking cup after cup of tepid coffee on the chairs outside Hermione's room.

To the bemusement of the Healers, he hadn't spent much time actually with Hermione. He hovered by her door and relentlessly asked them questions about her condition, but didn't sit by her bedside - mostly because he just couldn't bring himself to face her like this. But because Ron was so busy with the investigation, compiling reports and documenting evidence, he was hardly at the hospital, save for a one-hour daily visit. And so, the Healers began to treat Sirius as Hermione's nearest kin, urging him not to let her feel stress or worry of any kind.

Her condition had seemed to be improving but one night, Hermione woke up despite a heavy dose of sedatives because of a splintering pain in her abdomen. She cried out and the Healer who stayed by her side through the night quickly alerted the others. Sirius was woken up by a crowd of lime-green figures rushing past him. They were in prodding and poking and testing her blood till early dawn, at which point they told Sirius they'd have to operate.

Sirius hadn't known what that meant.

'It's a Muggle procedure,' explained Patricia, 'We're going to use a few spells to cut down on the risk, of course, but at the most basic level, it means we're going to have to cut into Ms Granger.'

Sirius's eyes widened. 'Cut into her? That's exactly what her attacker did!'

'Not like that. We'll be using sterilized equipment and Rosalie is experienced with this procedure. The bottom line is that we need to get the infected portions of her intestines out.'

'How is she going to survive without them?' argued Sirius.

Patricia didn't answer.

They began the procedure around noon, which was a few hours before Ron generally dropped in to the hospital. Sirius waited outside the OR, biting his nails. About an hour after the Healers had wheeled Hermione in, Harry came rushing up the corridor.

'I just heard,' he panted. 'Paul told me. Any news?'

Sirius shook his head. 'It might take a couple more hours.'

Harry exhaled and sank down beside Sirius. 'Ron's going to be furious at missing this,' he said. 'Did you see her before?'

'No. They took her in straight away. They said she was in terrible pain.'

Harry closed his eyes tightly. Then, he said, 'They've identified the weapon.'

Sirius's eyes widened. 'What was it?'

'A crystal plate she had bought a few years back. It was in her living room. Whoever did this smashed it and used one of the shards to cut her up.'

Sirius groaned. 'God.'

'I know. Ron's working like hell to wrap this case up. Stratford's hoping they'll have an initial report to file in a few days. Sebastian and Roy have been doing overtime as well.'

Sirius didn't reply initially. He stared at the door, behind which he knew the Healers were slicing Hermione's belly open and pulling out her intestines.

Then, he turned to Harry.

'So what's the plan now?' he asked.

Harry looked grim. 'We're going to see Cavendish.'

* * *

A bright light flashed in Hermione's face and from far away, she thought she heard someone say her name.

She decided to ignore it. She didn't feel like talking. Her mind was peaceful, after what felt like a very long time. Instead of responding to the questions that she was sure would be hurled at her the moment she opened her eyes, she chose to settle deeper into her drug-induced sleep.

_'I want to marry you,' Ron said._

_Hermione looked around. This wasn't how she'd imagined it to be. In her mind, whenever she pictured Ron proposing to her, they had been at a restaurant. Their table had a vase stuffed with masses of lilies and there were candles everywhere. They were drinking wine._

_But right now, they were sitting at the kitchen in the Burrow and Ron was making pancakes for breakfast. Early morning sunshine poured in through the red-and-white checked curtains of the window and there were no flowers on the table - only crayons which Victoire had left behind._

_'Well?' Ron asked, a little anxiously. He transferred his attention to the frying pan, flipped a pancake and then turned back to her. 'How does that sound?'_

_'This isn't how I imagined it,' Hermione said, truthfully._

_Ron grinned. He skillfully transferred the pancake to a plate and handed it to her. 'I figured,' he said, 'You wanted candles and wine, didn't you?'_

_This was so close to what she had been thinking that Hermione flushed. Ron caught her expression and flipped the last pancake onto a plate. He turned his attention to her, catching her hands and wrapping his fingers around her wrist. 'This isn't just some passing romance, Hermione,' he said, softly. 'This is the rest of our lives we're talking about. Not a date at a restaurant, but morning after morning of making breakfast together. Keeping house together. Having children together, even.'_

_Hermione swallowed. He was watching her very closely, his pale blue eyes searching her face for a reaction._

_'Ron,' she said, truthfully, 'I love you.'_

_Ron's face broke into a broad smile and he pulled her in to a tight hug. Hermione slipped her arms around his shoulders and smiled into his neck._

_'We're going to be happy for a very long time, Ronald.'_

* * *

__'Sign here,' said the redheaded guard at the gate.

Harry touched the tip of his wand to the point the guard indicated and a shower of pale blue sparks confirmed that his magical signature had been registered. As he moved through the gate, he was conscious of Ron doing the same thing behind him.

He had been to Azkaban only a handful of times since he had joined the Ministry. This had been a conscious decision - the Dementors weren't in the prison anymore but it seemed that their centuries-old hold over the island had steeped into its very fabric. The temperature dipped dramatically on it and no matter how perfect the weather before leaving for it, the sea was bound to be choppy and the sky a dull shade of gray by the time they reached.

The castle itself was made of dark gray stone, each block the size of a house. The walls, Harry had heard once, were over ten feet thick. Plenty of room for depressing Dementor essence to seep into, then.

The bottom portions of the castle were reserved for the prison staff, who had square rooms with protective spells. The level above was where the 'milder' prisoners were kept and above that, each floor was allotted to prisoners of rising grades of danger. The topmost levels of the towers - around six hundred feet above the base - were where the really dangerous ones were kept; where Grindelwald had been kept before Lord Voldemort had murdered him.

'All done sir,' said the guard, standing back respectfully. He tapped the doorway to the entrance to allow them to enter.

'Which was?' asked Ron.

'You'd be asking the warden for that, sir. Don't know where he's being kept. They just brought him in a few hours back.'

Harry nodded and entered the entrance room, which was more of a cavernous hall. A vaulted ceiling and bland tiling greeted him. To one corner was a metallic door with a sign that proclaimed it was the office of the chief warden. Harry hesitated outside it for a moment, wondering whether to knock. Then, he simply pushed it open.

'Warden White,' he said, impassively as he entered, addressing the man at the desk. Ron followed him silently. 'Good to see you again.'

Warden White, who had presided over Azkaban since the time of the Dementors, was a tall, stick-thin man with a lined face and severe features. He had a scattering of snow-white hair and the suggestion of a beard about his jaw. There was something very insubstantial about him; Harry had always wondered whether it had to do with being around Dementors so much. When he looked up from his paperwork, his ice-blue eyes widened with recognition.

'Mr Potter,' he said. 'It's been a while.'

_Obviously_, thought Harry. Aloud, he said, 'Work, Warden White. You know how it is.'

'Work! Indeed I do,' said White, rubbing a finger against his jaw. He offered Harry a watery smile and then said, 'It's work that brings you here, isn't it?'

'Of a manner,' Harry acknowledged. He drew himself a chair and one for Ron - Warden White wasn't one for niceties, like offering someone a seat. 'I want to talk to Cavendish.'

Again, White looked mildly amused. He opened a drawer of his desk and rummaged in it, pulling out a letter. 'Oh, _yes_,' he said. 'I got this a little earlier. From your department. Permission to visit our newest import, I see.'

Ron squirmed in his seat and Harry didn't blame him. 'Prisoner is the more apt word, I think,' he said, politely.

White laughed. It was a colorless chuckle, much like his face. 'The more official one, I suppose. If you don't mind my asking, what is the reason for this interview?'

Harry hesitated. Although White was a Ministry employee, he didn't know how much to divulge. The man had a sharp ear and a canny sense of putting two and two together, and he didn't know how comfortable he was of that. 'It's about an attack,' he said, finally. 'We think some friend of his might be behind it.'

At those words, White let out a guffaw which was possibly the heartiest one Harry had ever heard from him. 'Friend?' White echoed. 'Now _that's_ an apt word. Bloody henchman might be better, though. I assume this is about Hermione Granger?'

Ron's eyes widened. 'You heard about that?'

White spread his hands. 'I read the papers.'

'They never mentioned-'

'Her name, I know. But I have ears, Harry. It isn't hard to put two and two together.'

Harry swallowed. Exactly what he'd been afraid of.

'You'll get your interview in five minutes,' said White. 'Let the guards prep him first. In the meantime, can I make a suggestion?'

Harry didn't answer. White leaned over the desk and his eyes narrowed.

'Cavendish' _friends,'_ he whispered, 'Are everywhere. High places as well. I'd be careful if I were you. Prisoners talk, you know - and there's no one to hear them but the warden.'


End file.
